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LIFE   OF 
FRANCES   POWER   COBBE 


BY  HERSELF 


IN    TWO   VOLUMES 
VOLUME  I. 


innmmurmf"3gn» 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

iSfre  Jfttoer;si&e  prcstf,  Cambri&oe 

1894 


Copyright,  1894, 
By  FRANCES  POWER  COBBE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


PREFACE. 

My  life  has  been  an  interesting  one  to  live  and  I 
hope  that  this  record  of  it  may  not  prove  too  dull  to 
read.  The  days  are  past  when  biographers  thought 
it  necessary  to  apologize  for  the  paucity  of  the 
adventures  which  they  could  recall  and  the  obscurity 
of  the  achievements  which  their  heroes  might 
accomplish.  We  have  gone  far  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  are  wont  to  relate  in  extenso  details 
decidedly  trivial,  and  to  reproduce  in  imposing  type 
correspondence  which  was  scarcely  worth  the  postage 
of  the  original  manuscript.  Our  sense  of  the  intrinsic 
interest  of  Humanity,  as  depicted  either  in  biography 
or  fiction,  —  that  is,  of  the  character  of  the  personages 
of  the  drama  going  on  upon  our  little  stage,  —  has 
continually  risen,  while  that  of  the  action  of  the  piece 

—  the  "incidents"  which  our  fathers  chiefly  regarded 

—  has  fallen  into  the  second  plane.  I  fear  I  have 
been  guilty  in  this  book  of  recording  many  trifling 
memories  and  of  reproducing  some  letters  of  little 
importance  ;  but  only  through  small  touches  could  a 
happy  childhood  and  youth  be  possibly  depicted ;  and 
all  the  Letters  have,  I  think,  a  certain  value  as  relics 
and  tokens  of  friendship,  if  not  as  expressions  ( as 
many  of  them  are  )  of  opinions  carrying  the  weight  of 
honored  names. 


G95532 


iv  PREFACE. 

As  regards  these  Letters  ( exclusively,  of  course,  those 
of  friends  and  correspondents  now  dead),  I  earnestly 
beg  the  heirs  of  the  writers  to  pardon  me  if  I  have  not 
asked  their  permission  for  the  publication  of  them.  To 
have  ascertained,  in  the  first  place,  who  such  represen- 
tatives are  and  where  they  might  be  addressed,  would, 
in  many  cases,  have  been  a  task  presenting  prohibitive 
difficulties ;  and  as  the  contents  of  the  Letters  are 
wholly  honorable  to  the  heads  and  hearts  of  their 
authors,  I  may  fairly  hope  that  surviving  relatives  will 
be  pleased  that  they  should  see  the  light,  and  will  not 
grudge  the  testimony  they  bear  to  kindly  sentiments 
entertained  towards  myself.1 

There  is  in  this  book  of  mine  a  good  deal  of  "  Old 
Woman's  Gossip  "  ( I  hope  of  a  harmless  sort ),  con- 
cerning many  interesting  men  and  women  with  whom 
it  was  my  high  privilege  to  associate  freely  twenty, 
thirty,  and  forty  years  ago.  But  if  it  correspond  at  all 
to  my  design,  it  is  not  only,  or  chiefly,  a  collection  of 
social  sketches  and  friendly  correspondence..  I  have 
tried  to  make  it  the  true  and  complete  history  of  a 
woman's  existence  as  seen  from  tvithin ;  a  real  Life, 
which  he  who  reads  may  take  as  representing  fairly  the 
joys,  sorrows,  and  interests,  the  powers  and  limitations, 
of  one  of  my  sex  and  class  in  the  era  which  is  now 
drawing  to  a  close.  The  world  when  I  entered  it  was  a 
very  different  place  from  the  world  I  must  shortly 
quit,  most  markedly  so  as  regards  the  position  in  it  of 

1  With  regard  to  the  six  letters  from  Dean  Stanley,  I  may  mention 
that  I  offered  nearly  all  of  them  to  Mr.  Theodore  Waldron  immediately 
on  hearing  that  he  was  preparing  to  write  the  Dean's  biography.  He 
took  copies  of  them  and  told  me  he  should  thankfully  avail  himself  of 
them,  but  as  they  do  not  appear  in  the  work  published  since  his  death,  I 
feel  at  liberty  to  insert  them  here. 


PREFACE.  v 

women  and  of  persons  like  myself  holding  heterodox 
opinions,  and  my  experience  practically  bridges  the 
gulf  which  divides  the  English  ancien  regime  from 
the  new. 

Whether  my  readers  will  think  at  the  end  of  these 
volumes  that  such  a  Life  as  mine  was  worth  recording  I 
cannot  foretell ;  but  that  it  has  been  a  "  Life  worth 
Living "  I  distinctly  affirm  ;  so  well  worth  it,  that  — 
though  I  entirely  believe  in  a  higher  existence  here- 
after, both  for  myself  and  for  those  whose  less  happy 
lives  on  earth  entitle  them  far  more  to  expect  it  from 
eternal  love  and  justice  —  I  would  gladly  accept  the 
permission  to  run  my  earthly  race  once  more  from 
beginning  to  end,  taking  sunshine  and  shade  just  as 
they  have  flickered  over  the  long  vista  of  my  seventy 
years.  Even  the  retrospect  of  my  life  in  these  volumes 
has  been  a  pleasure ;  a  chewing  of  the  cud  of  memories, 
—  mostly  sweet,  none  very  bitter,  —  while  I  lie  still  a 
little  while  in  the  sunshine,  ere  the  soon-closing  night. 


CONTENTS 


VOL.  I. 

CHAP.  PAGB 

Preface iii 

I.  Family  and  Home 1 

II.  Childhood 26 

III.  School  and  After 49 

IV.  Religion 70 

V.   My  First  Book 96 

VI.  Ireland  in  the  Forties:  The  Peasantry      .        .        .  123 

VII.  Ireland  in  the  Forties:  The  Gentry         .        .        .  148 

VIII.   Uprooted 184 

IX.  Long  Journey 197 

X.   Bristol:  Reformatories  and  Ragged  Schools     .        .  250 

XI.  Bristol:  The  Sick  in  Workhouses       ....  278 

XII.  Bristol:  Workhouse  Girls 208 

XIII.   Bristol  Friends 310 


LIFE   OF   FRANCES   POWER   COBBE. 


r 


CHAPTER   I. 

FAMILY    AND    HOME. 

I  have  enjoyed  through  life  the  advantage  of  being, 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  words,  "  well  born."  My  pa- 
rents were  good  and  wise ;  honorable  and  honored ;  sound 
in  body  and  in  mind.  From  them  I  have  inherited  a 
physical  frame  which,  however  defective  even  to  the 
verge  of  grotesqueness  from  the  aesthetic  point  of 
view,  has  been,  as  regards  health  and  energy,  a  source 
of  endless  enjoyment  to  me.  From  childhood  till  now 
in  my  old  age,  —  except  during  a  few  years'  interval  of 
lameness  from  an  accident,  —  mere  natural  existence  has 
always  been  to  me  a  positive  pleasure.  Exercise  and 
rest,  food  and  warmth,  work,  play,  and  sleep,  each  in 
its  turn  has  been  delightful ;  and  my  spirits,  though  of 
course  now  no  longer  as  gay  as  in  youth,  have  kept  a 
level  of  cheerfulness  subject  to  no  alternatives  of  de- 
pression save  under  the  stress  of  actual  sorrow.  How 
much  of  the  optimism  which  I  am  aware  has  colored 
my  philosophy  ought  to  be  laid  to  the  account  of  this 
bodily  Men  etre,  it  would  be  superfluous  to  enquire  too 
nicely.  At  least  I  may  fairly  maintain  that,  as  Health 
is  the  normal  condition  of  existence,  the  views  which 
a  particularly  healthy  person  takes  of  things  are  pre- 
sumably more  sound  than  those  adopted  by  one  habit- 
ually in  the  abnormal  condition  of  an  invalid. 


2  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

As  regards  the  inheritance  of  mental  faculties,  of 
which  so  much  has  been  talked  of  late  years,  I  cannot 
trace  it  in  my  own  experience  in  any  way.  My  father 
was  a  very  able,  energetic  man ;  but  his  abilities  all  lay 
in  the  direction  of  administration,  while  those  of  my 
dear  mother  were  of  the  order  which  made  the  charm- 
ing hostess  and  cultivated  member  of  society  with  the 
now  forgotten  grace  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Nei- 
ther paternal  nor  maternal  gifts  or  graces  have  de-  ■ 
scended  to  me  ;  and  such  faculties  as  have  fallen  to 
my  lot  have  been  of  a  different  kind ;  a  kind  which,  I 
fear,  my  good  father  and  his  forbears  would  have  re- 
garded as  incongruous  and  unseemly  for  a  daughter  of 
their  house  to  exhibit.  Sometimes  I  have  pictured  to 
myself  the  shock  which  "  The  old  Master  "  would  have 
felt  could  he  have  seen  me  —  for  example  —  trudging 
three  times  a  week  for  seven  years  to  an  office  in  the 
purlieus  of  the  Strand  to  write  articles  for  a  halfpenny 
newspaper.  Not  one  of  my  ancestors,  so  far  as  I  have 
heard,  ever  dabbled  in  printer's  ink. 

My  brothers  were  all  older  than  I  ;  the  eldest  eleven, 
the  youngest  five  years  older  ;  and  my  mother,  when  I 
was  born,  was  in  her  forty-seventh  year ;  a  circum- 
stance which  perhaps  makes  it  remarkable  that  the 
physical  energy  and  high  animal  spirits  of  which  I 
have  just  made  mention  came  to  me  in  so  large  a  share. 
My  old  friend  Harriet  St.  Leger,  Fanny  Kemble's  "  dear 
H.  S.,"  who  knew  us  all  well,  said  to  me  one  day  laugh- 
ing :  "  You  know  you  are  your  Father's  Son !  '  Had 
I  been  a  man,  and  had  possessed  my  brother's  facil- 
ities for  entering  Parliament  or  any  profession,1 1  have 

1  It  is  always  amusing  (o  me  to  read  the  complacent  arguments  of  des- 
pisers  of  women  when  they  think  to  prove  the  inevitable  mental  inferiority 
of  my  sex  by  specifying  the  smaller  circumference  of  our  heads.  On  this 
line  of  logic  an  elephant  should  be  twice  as  wise  as  a  man.  But  in  my 
case,  as  it  happens,  their  argument  leans  the  wrong  way,  for  my  head  is 
larger  than  those  of  most  of  my  countrymen, —  Doctors  included.  As 
measured  carefully   with   proper   instruments   by  a  skilled   phrenologist 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  3 

sometimes  dreamed  I  could  have  made  my  mark  and 
done  some  masculine  service  to  my  fellow-creatures. 
But  the  woman's  destiny  which  God  allotted  to  me  has 
been,  I  do  not  question,  the  best  and  happiest  for  me  ; 
nor  have  I  ever  seriously  wished  it  had  been  otherwise, 
albeit  I  have  gone  through  life  without  that  interest 
which  has  been  styled  "  woman's  whole  existence." 
Perhaps  if  this  book  be  found  to  have  any  value  it  will 
partly  consist  in  the  evidence  it  must  afford  of  how 
pleasant  and  interesting,  and  withal,  I  hope,  not 
altogether  useless  a  life  is  open  to  a  woman,  though  no 
man  has  ever  desired  to  share  it,  nor  has  she  seen  the 
man  she  would  have  wished  to  ask  her  to  do  so.  The 
days  which  many  maidens,  my  contemporaries  and 
acquaintances,  — 

"Lost  in  wooing, 
In  watching  and  pursuing,"  — 

(or  in  being  pursued,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing,) 
were  spent  by  me,  free  from  all  such  distractions,  in 
study  and  in  the  performance  of  happy  and  healthful 
filial  and  housewifely  duties.  Destiny,  too,  was  kind 
to  me,  likewise,  by  relieving  me  from  care  respecting 
the  other  great  object  of  human  anxiety, — to  wit, 
Money.  The  prophet's  prayer,  "  Give  me  neither  pov- 
erty nor  riches,"  was  granted  to  me,  and  I  have 
probably  needed  to  spend  altogether  fewer  thoughts  on 
£  s.  d.  than  could  happen  to  any  one  who  has  either  to 
solve  the  problems  "  How  to  keep  the  Wolf  from  the 
door"  and  "How  to  make  both  ends  meet,  "  or  "How, 
justly  and  conscientiously,  to  expend  a  large  income  ?  " 
Wealth  has  only  come  to  me  in  my  old  age,  and  now  it  is 
easy  to  know  how  to  spend  it.     Thus  it  has  happened 

(the  late  Major  Noel)  the  dimensions  are  as  follows  :  Circumference,  23J 
inches ;  frontal  lobe,  10  inches  ;  greatest  height  from  external  orifice  of  ear 
to  summit  of  crown,  6|  inches.  On  the  other  hand  dear  Mrs.  Somerville's 
little  head,  which  held  three  times  as  much  as  mine  has  ever  done,  was 
below  the  average  of  that  of  women.     So  much  for  that  argument ! 


4  FRANCES  POWER  COBBE. 

that  in  early  womanhood  and  middle  life  I  enjoyed  a 
degree  of  real  leisure  of  mind  possessed  by  few;  and 
to  it,  I  think,  must  be  chiefly  attributed  anything 
which  in  my  doings  may  have  worn  the  semblance  of 
exceptional  ability.  I  had  good,  sound  working  brains 
to  start  with,  and  much  fewer  hindrances  than  the 
majority  of  women  in  improving  and  employing  them. 
Volla  tout. 

I  began  by  saying  that  I  was  well-born  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  words,  being  the  child  of  parents  morally 
good  and  physically  sound.  I  reckon  it  also  to 
have  been  an  advantage  —  though  immeasurably  a 
minor  one  —  to  have  been  well-born,  likewise,  in  the 
conventional  sense.  My  ancestors,  it  is  true,  were 
rather  like  those  of  Sir  Leicester  Dedlock,  "  chiefly  re- 
markable for  never  having  done  anything  remarkable 
for  so  many  generations."  1  But  they  were  honorable 
specimens  of  country  squires ;  and  never,  during  the 
four  centuries  through  which  I  have  traced  them,  do 
they  seem  to  have  been  guilty  of  any  action  of  which 
I  need  to  be  ashamed. 

1  The  aphorism  so  often  applied  to  little  girls,  that  "  it  is  better  to  be 
good  than  pretty,"  may,  with  greater  hope  of  success,  be  applied  to 
family  names  ;  but  I  fear  mine  is  neither  imposing  nor  sonorous.  I  may 
say  of  it  (as  I  remarked  to  the  charming  Teresa  Doria  when  she  ridiculed 
the  Swiss  for  their  mesquin  names,  all  ending  in  "in"),  "Everybody 
cannot  have  the  luck  to  be  able  to  sign  themselves  Doria  nata  Durazzo  !  " 
Nevertheless  "Cobbe"  is  a  very  old  name  (Leuricus  Cobbe  held  lands 
in  Suffolk,  vide  Domesday),  and  it  is  curiously  widespread  as  a  word  in 
most  Aryan  languages,  signifying  either  the  head  (literal  or  metaphorical) 
or  a  head-shaped  object.  I  am  no  philologist,  and  I  dare  say  my  examples 
offend  against  some  "law,  "  and  therefore  cannot  be  admitted  ;  but  it  is 
at  least  odd  that  we  should  find  Latin,  Caput;  Italian,  Capo  ;  Spanish, 
Cabo  ;  Saxon,  Cop  ;  German,  Kopf.  Then  we  have,  as  derivates  from 
the  physical  head,  Cape,  Capstan,  Cap,  Cope,  Copse,  or  Coppice,  Coping 
Stone,  Co/iped,  Cup,  Cupola,  Cub,  Cubicle,  Kobbold,  Gobbo  ;  and  from  the 
metaphorical  Head  or  Chief,  Captain,  Capital,  Capitation, Capitulate,  etc. 
And  again,  we  have  a  multitude  of  names  for  objects  obviously  signifying 
head-shaped,  e.g.,  Cob-horse,  Cob-nut,  Cob-gull,  Cob-herring,  Cob-swan, 
Cob-coal,  Cob-iron,  Cob-icall,  a  Cock  (of  hay),  according  to  Johnson,  prop- 
erly a  "  Cop  "  of  hay,  the  Cobb  (or  Headland  at  Lyme  Regis,  etc.,  etc. ;  the 
K.obbe'  fiord  in  Norway,  etc. 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  5 

My  mother's  father  was  Captain  Thomas  Conway,  of 
Moruen  Park,  representative  of  a  branch  of  that  family. 
*  Her  only  brother  was  Adjutant-General  Conway,  whose 
name  Lord  Roberts  has  kindly  informed  me  is  still, 
ni'ter  fifty  years,  an  "  honored  word  in  Madras."  My 
father's  progenitors  were,  from  the  fifteenth  century,  for 
many  generations  owners  of  Swarraton,  now  Lord  Ash- 
burton's  beautiful  "  Grange  "  in  Hampshire ;  the  scene 
of  poor  Mrs.  Carlyle's  mortifications.  While  at  Swarra- 
ton the  heads  of  the  family  married,  in  their  later  gen- 
erations, the  daughters  of  Welborne  of  Allington  ;  of 
Sir  John  Owen ;  of  Sir  Richard  Norton  of  Rotherfield 
(whose  wife  was  the  daughter  of  Bishop  Bilson,  one  of 
the  translators  of  the  Bible)  ;  and  of  James  Chaloner, 
Governor  of  the  Isle  of  Man,  one  of  the  Judges  of 
Charles  I.  The  wife  of  this  last  remarkable  man  was 
Ursula  Fairfax,  niece  of  Lord  Fairfax.1 

On  one  occasion  only  do  the  Cobbes  of  Swarraton  seem 
to  have  transcended  the  "  Dedlock  "  programme.  Rich- 
ard Cobbe  was  Knight  of  the  Shire  for  Hants  in  Crom- 
well's short  Parliament  of  1G56,  with  Richard  Cromwell 
for  a  colleague.  What  he  did  therein  History  saith 
not !  The  grandson  of  this  Richard  Cobbe,  a  younger 
son  named  Charles,  went  to  Ireland  in  1717  as  Chaplain 
to  the  Duke  of  Bolton  with  whom  he  was  connected 
through  the  Nortons ;  and  a  few  years  later  he  was 
appointed  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  —  a  post  which  he 
held  with  great  honor  until  his  death  in  1765.  On  every 
occasion  when  penal  laws  against  Catholics  were  pro- 
posed in  the  Irish  House  of  Lords  Archbishop  Cobbe 
contended  vigorously  against  them,  dividing  the  House 
again  and  again  on  the  Bills  ;  and  his  numerous  letters 
and  papers  in  the  Irish  State-Paper  office  (as  Mr. 
Froude  has  assured  me  after  inspection)  bear  high  testi- 

1  As  such  things  as  mythical  pedigrees  are  not  altogether  unknown  in 
the  world,  I  beg  to  say  that  I  have  myself  noted  the  above  from  Harleian 
MS.  in  British  Museum  1473  and  1139.  Also  in  the  College  of  Arms,  G. 
16,  p.  74,  and  C.  19,  p.  104. 


6  FRANCES   BOWEB   COBBE. 

niony  to  his  liberality  and  integrity  in  that  age  of  cor- 
ruption. Two  traditions  concerning  him  have  a  certain 
degree  of  general  interest.  One,  that  John  Wesley 
called  upon  him  at  his  country  house.  —  my  old  home, 
Newbridge,  —  and  that  the  interview  was  perfectly 
friendly  :  Wesley  approving  himself  and  his  work  to  the 
Archbishop's  mind.  The  other  is,  that  when  Handel 
came  to  Dublin,  bringing  with  him  the  31$.  of  the  ••  Mes- 
siah," of  which  he  could  not  succeed  in  obtaining  the 
production  in  London.  Archbishop  Cobbe,  then  Bishop 
of  Kildare,  took  lively  interest  in  the  work,  and  under 
his  patronage,  as  well  as  that  of  several  Irishmen  of 
rank,  the  great  Oratorio  was  produced  in  Dublin. 

Good  Archbishop  Cobbe  had  not  neglected  the  affairs 
of  his  own  household.  He  bought  considerable  estates 
in  Louth.  Carlow.  and  Co.  Dublin,  and  on  the  latter, 
about  twelve  miles  north  of  Dublin  and  two  miles  from 
the  pretty  rocky  coast  of  Portrane.  he  built  his  country- 
house  of  Xewbridge.  which  has  ever  since  been  the  home 
of  our  family.  As  half  my  life  is  connected  with  this 
dear  old  place,  I  hope  the  reader  will  be  able  to  im- 
agine it  as  it  was  in  mv  vouth.  brisrht  and  smiling;  and 
yet  dignified ;  bosomed  among  its  old  trees  and  Avith  the 
green,  wide-spreading  park  opened  out  before  the  noble 
granite  perron  of  the  hall  door.  There  is  another  coun- 
try-house on  the  adjoining  estate.  Turvey,  the  property 
of  Lord  Trimleston.  and  I  have  often  amused  myself  by 
comparing  the  two.  Turvey  is  really  a  wicked-looking 
house,  with  half-moon  windows  which  suggest  leering 
eyes,  and  partition  walls  so  thick  that  secret  passages 
run  through  them  ;  and  bedrooms  with  tapestry  and 
mtUes  and  hidden  doors  in  the  wainscot.  There  were 
there,  also,  when  I  was  young,  certain  very  objectionable 
pictures,  beside  several  portraits  of  the  "  beauties  "  of 
Charles  II.*s  court,  (to  the  last  degree  decollettees)  who 
had  been,  no  doubt,  friends  of  the  first  master  of  the 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  7 

house,  their  contemporary.  In  the  garden  was  a  grotto 
with  a  deep  cold  bath  in  it,  which,  in  the  climate  of  Ire- 
land, suggested  suicide  rather  than  ablution.  Alto- 
gether the  place  had  the  same  suggestiveness  of  "  deeds 
of  darkness "  which  I  remember  feeling  profoundly 
when  I  went  over  Holyrood  with  Dr.  John  Brown ;  and 
it  was  quite  natural  to  attach  to  Turvey  one  of  the 
worst  of  the  traditional  Irish  curses.  This  curse  was 
pronounced  by  the  Abbess  of  the  neighboring  convent 
(long  in  ruins)  of  Grace-Dieu  when  Lord  Kingsland, 
then  lord  of  Turvey,  had  by  some  nefarious  means  in- 
duced the  English  Government  of  the  day  to  make  over 
the  lands  of  the  convent  to  himself.  On  announcing 
this  intelligence  in  his  own  hall  to  the  assembled  nuns, 
the  poor  ladies  took  refuge  very  naturally  in  male- 
diction, went  down  simultaneously  on  their  knees,  and 
repeated  after  their  Abbess  a  denunciation  of  Heaven's 
vengeance  on  the  traitor.  "  There  should  never  want 
an  idiot  or  a  lawsuit  in  the  family ;  and  the  rightful 
heir  should  never  see  the  smoke  of  the  chimney." 
Xeedless  to  add,  lawsuits  and  idiots  have  been  plentiful 
ever  since,  and,  after  several  generations  of  absentees, 
Turvey  stands  in  a  treeless  desert,  and  has  descended  in 
the  world  from  lordly  to  humble  owners. 

How  different  was  Xewbridge !  Built  not  by  a 
dissolute  courtier  of  Charles  II.,  but  by  the  sensible 
Whig  and  eminently  Protestant  Archbishop,  it  has  as 
open  and  honest  a  countenance  as  its  neighbor  has  the 
reverse.  The  solid  walls,  about  three  feet  and  a  half 
thick  in  most  parts,  keep  out  the  cold,  but  neither 
darken  the  large,  lofty  rooms,  nor  afford  space  for 
devious  and  secret  passages.  The  house  stands  broadly- 
built  and  strong,  not  high  or  frowning;  its  Portland- 
stone  color  warm  against  the  green  of  Irish  woods  and 
grass.  "Within  doors  every  room  is  airy  and  lightsome, 
and  more  than  one  is  beautiful.  There  is  a  fine  stair- 
case out  of  the  second  hall,  the  walls  of  which   are 


8  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

covered  with  old  family  pictures  which  the  Archbishop 
had  obtained  from  his  elder  brother,  Colonel  Richard 
Chaloner  Cobbe,  who  had  somehow  lost  Swarraton,  and 
whose  line  ended  in  an  heiress,  wife  of  the  eleventh 
Earl  of  Huntingdon.  A  long  corridor  downstairs  was, 
I  have  heard,  formerly  hung  from  end  to  end  with  arms 
intended  for  defence  in  case  of  attack.  When  the 
Rebellion  of  1798  took  place  the  weapons  were  hidden 
in  a  hole  into  which  I  have  peered,  under  the  floor  of  a 
room  off  the  great  drawing-room,  but  what  became  of 
them  afterwards  I  do  not  know.  My  father  possessed 
only  a  few  pairs  of  handsome  pistols,  two  or  three 
blunderbusses,  sundry  guns  of  various  kinds,  and  his 
own  regimental  sword  which  he  had  used  at  Assaye. 
All  these  hung  in  his  study.  The  drawing-room  with 
its  noble  proportions  and  its  fifty-three  pictures  by 
Vandyke,  Ruysdael,  Guercino,  Vanderveld,  and  other  old 
masters,  was  the  glory  of  the  house.  In  it  the  happiest 
hours  of  my  life  were  passed. 

Of  this  house  and  of  the  various  estates  bought  and 
leased  by  the  Archbishop  his  only  surviving  son, 
Thomas  Cobbe,  my  great-grandfather,  came  into  posses- 
sion in  the  year  1765.  Irreverently  known  to  his 
posterity  as  "  Old  Tommy "  this  gentleman  after  the 
fashion  of  his  contemporaries  muddled  away  in  keeping 
open  house  a  good  deal  of  the  property,  and  eventually 
sold  one  estate  and  (  what  was  worse  )  his  father's  fine 
library.  Per  contra  he  made  the  remarkable  collection 
of  pictures  of  which  I  have  spoken  as  adorning  the 
walls  of  Newbridge.  Pilkington,  the  author  of  the 
"  Dictionary  of  Painters,"  was  incumbent  of  the  little 
Vicarage  of  Donabate,  and  naturally  somewhat  in  the 
relation  of  chaplain  to  the  squire  of  Newbridge,  who 
had  the  good  sense  to  send  him  to  Holland  and  Italy 
to  buy  the  above-mentioned  pictures,  many  of  which 
are  described  in  the  Dictionary.  Some  time  previously, 
when   Pilkington   had   come  out  as  an   Art-critic,  the 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  9 

Archbishop  had  remonstrated  with  him  on  his  uncleri- 
cal  pursuit;  but  the  poor  man  disarmed  episcopal 
censure  by  replying,  "  Your  Grace,  I  have  preached  for 
a  dozen  years  to  an  old  woman  who  can't  hear,  and  to  a 
young  woman  who  won't  hear  ;  and  now  I  think  I  may 
attend  to  other  things  !  " 

Thomas  Cobbe's  wife's  name  has  been  often  before 
the  public  in  connection  with  the  story,  told  by  Crabbe, 
Walter  Scott,  and  many  others,  of  the  lady  who  wore  a 
black  ribbon  on  her  wrist  to  conceal  the  marks  of  a 
ghost's  fingers.  The  real  ghost-seer  in  question,  Lady 
Beresford,  was  confounded  by  many  with  her  grand- 
daughter Lady  Eliza  Beresford,  or,  as  she  was  commonly 
called  after  her  marriage,  Lady  Betty  Cobbe.  How  the 
confusion  came  about  I  do  not  know,  but  Lady  Betty, 
who  was  a  spirited  woman  much  renowned  in  the 
palmy  days  of  Bath,  was  very  indignant  when  asked 
any  questions  on  the  subject.  Once  she  received  a 
letter  from  one  of  Queen  Charlotte's  Ladies-in- Waiting 
begging  her  to  tell  the  Queen  the  true  story.  Lady 
Betty  in  reply  "presented  her  compliments,  but  was 
sure  the  Queen  of  England  would  not  pry  into  the 
private  affairs  of  her  subjects,  and  had  no  intention  of 
gratifying  the  impertinent  curiosity  of  a  Lady-in-  Wait- 
ing ! "  Considerable  labor  was  expended  some  years 
ago  by  the  late  Primate  (  Marcus  Beresford  )  of  Ireland, 
another  descendant  of  the  ghost-seer  in  identifying  the 
real  personages  and  dates  of  this  curious  tradition. 
The  story  which  came  to  me  directly  through  my 
great-aunt,  Hon.  Mrs.  Henry  Pelham,  Lady  Betty's 
favorite  daughter,  was,  that  the  ghost  was  John  Le 
Poer,  Second  Earl  of  Tyrone,  and  the  ghost-seer  was 
his  cousin,  Mchola  Hamilton,  daughter  of  Lord 
Glerawly,  wife  of  Sir  Tristram  Beresford.  The  cousins 
had  promised  each  other  to  appeal',  —  whichever  of 
them  first  departed  this  life,  —  to  the  survivor.  Lady 
Beresford,  who   did  not  know  that  Lord  Tyrone  was 


10  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

dead,  awoke  one  night  and  found  him  sitting  by  her 
bedside.  He  gave  her  (  so  goes  the  story  )  a  short,  but, 
under  the  circumstances,  no  doubt  impressive,  lesson  in 
the  elements  of  orthodox  theology ;  and  then  to  satisfy 
her  of  the  reality  of  his  presence,  which  she  persisted 
in  doubting,  he  twisted  the  curtains  of  her  bed  through 
a  ring  in  the  ceiling,  placed  his  hand  on  a  wardrobe 
and  left  on  it  the  ominous  mark  of  five  burning  fingers 
( the  late  Hon.  and  Rev.  Edward  Taylor  of  Ardgillan 
Castle  told  me  he  had  seen  this  wardrobe ! ),  and  finally 
touched  her  wrist,  which  shrunk  incontinently  and 
never  recovered  its  natural  hue.  Before  he  vanished 
the  Ghost  told  Lady  Beresford  that  her  son  should 
marry  his  brother's  daughter  and  heiress ;  and  that  she 
herself  should  die  at  the  birth  of  a  child  after  a  second 
marriage,  in  her  forty-second  year.  All  these  prophe- 
cies, of  course,  came  to  pass.  From  the  marriage  of  Sir 
Marcus  Beresford  with  the  Ghost's  niece,  Catharine, 
Baroness  Le  Poer  of  Curraghmore,  has  descended  the 
whole  clan  of  Irish  Beresfords.  He  was  created  Earl 
of  Tyrone ;  his  eldest  son  was  the  first  Marquis  of 
Waterford ;  another  son  was  Archbishop  of  Tuam, 
created  Lord  Decies ;  and  his  fifth  daughter  was  the 
Lady  Betty  Cobbe,  my  great-grandmother,  concerning 
whom  I  have  told  this  old  story.  In  these  days  of 
Psychological  Research  I  could  not  take  on  myself  to 
omit  it,  though  my  own  private  impression  is,  that 
Lady  Beresford  accidentally  gave  her  wrist  a  severe 
blow  against  her  bedstead  while  she  was  asleep ;  and 
that,  by  a  law  of  dreaming  which  I  have  endeavored  to 
trace  in  my  essay  on  the  subject,  her  mind  instantly 
created  the  myth  of  Lord  Tyrone's  apparition.  Allow- 
ing for  a  fair  amount  of  subsequent  agglomeration  of 
incidents  and  wonders  in  the  tradition,  this  hypothesis, 
I  think,  quite  meets  the  exigencies  of  the  case ;  and  in 
obedience  to  the  law  of  Parsimony,  we  need  not  run  to 
a  preternatural  explanation  of  the  Black  Ribbon  on  the 
Wrist,  no  doubt  the  actual  nucleus  of  the  tale. 


FAMILY  AND  IIOME.  11 

I  do  not  (^believe  in  ghosts  ;  but  unfortunately  I 
have  never  been  able  comfortably  to  believe  in  any 
particular  ghost  story.  The  overwhelming  argument 
against  the  veracity  of  the  majority  of  such  narrations 
is,  that  they  contradict  the  great  truth  beautifully  set 
forth  by  Southey  : — 

"  They  sin  who  tell  us  Love  can  die  !  — 
With  life  all  other  passions  fly, 
All  others  are  but  vanity — 
In  Heaven,  Ambition  cannot  dwell, 
Nor  Avarice  in  the  vaults  of  hell. 
Earthly  these  passions  as  of  earth, 
They  perish  where  the}'  had  their  birth  — 
But  Love  is  indestructible.  ..." 

The  ghost  of  popular  belief  almost  invariably  exhibits 
the  survival  of  Avarice,  Revenge,  or  some  other  thor- 
oughly earthly  passion,  while  for  the  sake  of  the  purest, 
noblest,  tenderest  Love  scarcely  ever  has  a  single  Spirit 
of  the  departed  been  even  supposed  to  return  to  com- 
fort the  heart  which  death  has  left  desolate.  The 
famous  story  of  Miss  Lee  is  one  exception  to  this  rule, 
and  so  is  another  tale  which  I  found  recorded  in  an 
MS.  Memorandum  in  the  writing  of  my  uncle,  the 
Rev.  Henry  Cobbe,  Rector  of  Templeton  {died  1823.) 

"  Lady  Moira  x  was  at  one  time  extremely  uneasy 
about  her  sister,  Lady  Selina  Hastings,  from  whom  she 
had  not  heard  for  a  considerable  time.  One  night  she 
dreamed  that  her  sister  came  to  her,  sat  down  by  her 
bedside,  and  said  to  her,  '  My  dear  sister,  I  am 
dying  of  fever.  They  will  not  tell  you  of  it  be- 
cause of  your  situation  '  (she  was  then  with  child), 
'  but  I  shall  die,  and  the  account  will  be  brought  to 
your  husband  by  letter  directed  like  a  foreign  one  in  a 
foreign  hand.'  She  told  her  dream  to  her  attendant, 
Mrs.  Moth,  as  soon  as  she  awoke,  was  extremely 
unhappy  for  letters,  till  at  length,  the  day  after,  there 
arrived  one,  directed  as  she  had  been  told,  which  con- 
i  Wife  of  Thomas  Cobbe's  half-brother. 


12  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

tained  an  account  of  her  sister's  death..  It  had  been 
written  by  her  brother,  Lord  Huntingdon,  and  in  a 
feigned  hand,  lest  she  should  ask  to  know  the  contents. 

"  She  had  many  other  extraordinary  dreams,  and  it  is 
very  remarkable  that  after  the  death  of  her  attendant, 
Moth,  who  had  educated  her  and  her  children,  and  was 
the  niece  of  the  famous  Bishop  Hough,  that  she  (Moth) 
generally  took  a  part  in  them,  particularly  if  they 
related  to  any  loss  in  her  family.  Indeed,  I  believe  she 
never  dreamed  of  her  except  when  she  was  to  undergo 
a  loss.  Lady  Granard  told  me  an  instance  of  this  : 
Her  second  son  Colonel  Rawdon  died  very  suddenly. 
He  had  not  been  on  good  terms  with  Lady  Moira  for 
some  time.  One  night  she  dreamed  that  Moth  came 
into  the  room,  and  upon  asking  her  what  she  wanted 
she  said,  '  My  lady,  I  am  come  to  bring  the  Colonel  to 
you.'  Then  he  entered,  came  near  her,  and  coming 
within  the  curtains,  sat  on  the  bed  and  said,  'My 
dearest  mother,  I  am  going  a  very  long  journey,  and  I 
cannot  bear  to  go  without  the  assurance  of  your  forgive- 
ness.' Then  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
said,  '  Dear  son,  can  you  doubt  my  forgiving  you  ? 
But  where  are  you  going?'  He  replied,  'A  long 
journey,  but  I  am  happy  now  that  I  have  seen  you.' 
The  next  day  she  received  an  account  of  his  death. 

"About  a  fortnight  before  her  death,  when  Lady 
Granard  and  Lady  Charlotte  Rawdon,  her  daughters, 
were  sitting  up  in  her  room,  she  awoke  suddenly, 
very  ill  and  very  much  agitated,  saying  that  she  had 
dreamed  that  Mrs.  Moth  came  into  her  room.  When 
she  saw  her  she  was  so  full  of  the  idea  that  evils  al- 
ways attended  her  appearance  that  she  said,  '  Ah,  Moth, 
I  fear  you  are  come  for  my  Selina '  (Lady  G.).  Moth 
replied,  'No,  my  lady,  but  I  come  for  Mr.  John.' 
They  gave  her  composing  drops  and  soothed  her ;  she 
soon  fell  asleep,  and  from  that  time  never  mentioned 
her  son's  name  nor  made  any  inquiry  about  him;  but 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  13 

he  died  on  the  very  day  of  her  dream,  though  she  never 
knew  it." 

Old  Thomas  Cobbe  and  after  him  his  only  son, 
Charles  Cobbe,  represented  the  (exceedingly  rotten) 
Borough  of  Swords  for  a  great  many  years  in  the  Irish 
Parliament,  which  was  then  in  its  glory,  resonant  with 
the  eloquence  of  Flood  (who  had  married  Lady  Betty's 
sister,  Lady  Jane)  and  of  Henry  Grattan.  On  search- 
ing the  archives  of  Dublin,  however,  in  the  hope  of  dis- 
covering that  our  great-grandfather  had  done  some 
public  good  in  his  time,  my  brother  and  I  had  the  mor- 
tification to  find  that  on  the  only  occasion  when  refer- 
ence was  made  to  his  name,  it  was  in  connection  with 
charges  of  bribery  and  corruption  !  On  the  other  hand, 
it  is  recorded  to  his  honor  that  he  was  almost  the  only 
one  among  the  Members  of  the  Irish  Parliament  who 
voted  for  the  Union,  and  yet  refused  either  a  peerage 
or  money  compensation  for  his  seat.  Instead  of  these 
he  obtained  for  Swords  some  educational  endowments 
by  which  I  believe  the  little  town  still  profits.  In  the 
record  of  corruption  sent  by  Lord  Randolph  Churchill 
to  the  "Times"  (May  29th,  1893),  in  which  appears  a 
charge  of,  interested  motives  against  nearly  every  Mem- 
ber of  the  Irish  Parliament  of  1784,  "Mr.  Cobbe" 
stands  honorably  alone  as  without  any  "object"  what- 
ever. 

Thomas  Cobbe's  two  daughters,  my  great-aunts  and 
immediate  predecessors  as  the  Misses  Cobbe,  of  New- 
bridge (my  grandfather  having  only  sons),  differed  con- 
siderably in  all  respects  from  their  unworthy  niece. 
They  occupied,  so  said  tradition,  the  large  cheerful  room 
which  afterwards  became  my  nursery.  A  beam  across 
the  ceiling  still  bore,  in  my  time,  a  large  iron  staple 
firmly  fixed  in  the  centre  from  whence  had  dangled  a 
hand-swing.  On  this  swing  my  great-aunts  were  wont 
to  hang  by  their  arms,  to  enable  their  maids  to  lace 
their  stays  to  greater  advantage.     One  of  them,  after- 


14  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

wards  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Henry  Pelham,  Lady-in- Waiting 
to  Queen  Caroline,  likewise  wore  the  high-heeled  shoes 
of  the  period  ;  and  when  she  was  an  aged  woman  she 
showed  her  horribly  deformed  feet  to  one  of  my  bro- 
thers, and  remarked  to  him :  "  See,  Tom,  what  comes 
of  high-heeled  shoes  !  "  I  am  afraid  many  of  the  girls 
now  wearing  similarly  monstrous  foot-gear  will  learn 
the  same  lesson  too  late.  Mrs.  Pelham,  I  have  heard, 
was  the  person  who  practically  brought  the  house  about 
the  ears  of  the  unfortunate  Queen  Caroline ;  being  the 
first  to  throw  up  her  appointment  at  Court  when  she 
became  aware  of  the  Queen's  private  on-goings.  Her 
own  character  stood  high ;  and  the  fact  that  she  would 
no  longer  serve  the  Queen  naturally  called  attention  to 
all  the  circumstances.  Bad  as  Queen  Caroline  was, 
George  the  Fourth  was  assuredly  worse  than  she.  In 
his  old  age  he  was  personally  very  disgusting.  My 
mother  told  me  that  when  she  received  his  kiss  on  pre- 
sentation at  his  Drawing-Eoom,  the  contact  with  his 
face  was  sickening,  like  that  with  a  corpse.  I  still 
possess  the  dress  she  wore  on  that  occasion. 

Mrs.  Pelham's  sister  married  Sir  Henry  Tuite,  of 
Sonnagh,  and  for  many  years  of  her  widowhood  lived 
in  the  Circus,  Bath,  and  perhaps  may  still  be  remem- 
bered there  by  a  few  as  driving  about  her  own  team  of 
four  horses  in  her  curricle,  in  days  when  such  doings 
by  ladies  were  more  rare  than  they  are  now. 

The  only  brother  of  these  two  Miss  Cobbes  of  the 
past,  Charles  Cobbe,  of  Newbridge,  M.  P.,  married 
Anne  Power  Trench,  of  Garbally,  sister  of  the  first 
Earl  of  Clancarty.  The  multitudinous  clans  of  Trenches 
and  Moncks,  in  addition  to  Lady  Betty's  Beresford  rela- 
tions, of  course  thenceforth  adopted  the  habit  of  paying 
visitations  at  Newbridge.  Arriving  by  coachloads,  with 
trains  of  servants,  they  remained  for  months  at  a  time. 
A  pack  of  hounds  was  kept,  and  the  whole  train  de  vie 
was  liberal  in  the  extreme.     Naturally,  after  a  certain 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  15 

number  of  years  of  this  kind  of  thing,  embarrassments 
beset  the  family  finances ;  but  fortunately  at  the  crisis 
Lady  Betty  came  under  the  influence  of  her  husband's 
cousin,  the  Methodist  Countess  of  Huntingdon,  and  ere 
long  renounced  the  vanities  and  pleasures  of  the  world, 
and  persuaded  her  husband  to  retire  with  her  and  live 
quietly  at  Bath,  where  they  died  and  were  buried  in 
Weston  church  yard.  Fifty  years  afterwards  I  found 
in  the  library  at  Newbridge  the  little  batch  of  books 
which  had  belonged  to  my  great-grandmother  in  this 
phase  of  her  life,  and  were  marked  by  her  pencil : 
"  Jacob  Boehmen  "  and  the  "  Life  of  Madame  Guyon  " 
being  those  which  I  now  recall.  The  peculiar,  ecstatic 
pietism  which  these  books  breathe,  differing  toto  ccelo 
from  the  "  other  worldliness  "  of  the  divines  of  about 
1810,  with  whose  works  the  "  Good-book  Rows "  of 
our  library  were  replenished,  impressed  me  very 
vividly.1 

I  have  often  tried  to  construct  in  my  mind  some  sort 
of  picture  of  the  society  which  existed  in  Ireland 
a  hundred  years  ago,  and  moved  in  those  old  rooms 
wherein  the  first  half  of  my  life  was  spent,  but  I  have 
found  it  a  very  baffling  undertaking.  Apparently  it 
combined  a  considerable  amount  of  aesthetic  taste  with 
traits  of  genuine  barbarism  ;  and  high  religious  pre- 
tension with  a  disregard  of  every-day  duties  and  a 
penchant  for  gambling  and  drinking  which  would  noAV 
place  the  most  avowedly  worldly  persons  under  a  cloud 
of  opprobrium.  Card-playing  was  carried  on  inces- 
santly. Tradition  says  that  the  tables  were  laid  for  it 
on  rainy  days  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  ISTew- 

1  Lady  Huntingdon  was  doubly  connected  with  Thomas  Cobbe.  She 
was  his  first  cousin,  daughter  of  his  maternal  aunt  Selina  Countess  of  Fer- 
rers, and  mother  of  his  sister-in-law,  Elizabeth  Countess  of  Moira.  The 
pictures  of  Dorothy  Levinge,  and  of  her  father  ;  of  Lady  Ferrers  ;  and 
of  Lord  Moira  and  his  wife,  all  of  which  hang  in  the  halls  at  Newbridge, 
made  me,  as  a  child,  think  of  them  as  familiar  people.  Unfortunately  the 
portrait  of  chief  interest,  that  of  Lady  Huntingdon,  is  missing  in  the  series. 


16  FBAJSTCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

bridge  drawing-room  ;  and  on  every  day  in  the  inter- 
minable evenings  which  followed  the  then  fashionable 
four  o'clock  dinner.  My  grandmother  was  so  excellent 
a  whist-player  that  to  extreme  old  age  in  Bath  she 
habitually  made  a  small,  but  appreciable,  addition  to 
her  income  out  of  her  "  card  purse ; "  an  ornamental 
appendage  of  the  toilet  then,  and  even  in  my  time 
in  universal  use.  I  was  given  one  as  a  birthday  pres- 
ent in  my  tenth  year.  She  was  greatly  respected  by 
all,  and  beloved  by  her  five  sons  :  every  one  of  whom, 
however,  she  had  sent  out  to  be  nursed  at  a  cottage 
in  the  park  till  they  were  three  years  old.  Her 
motherly  duties  were  supposed  to  be  amply  fulfilled  by 
occasionally  stopping  her  carriage  to  see  how  the  chil- 
dren were  getting  on. 

As  to  the  drinking  among  the  men  (the  women 
seemed  not  to  have  shared  the  vice),  it  must  have  pre- 
vailed to  a  disgusting  extent  upstairs  and  downstairs. 
A  fuddled  condition  after  dinner  was  accepted  as  the 
normal  one  of  a  gentleman,  and  entailed  no  sort  of  dis- 
grace. On  the  contrary,  my  father  has  told  me  that 
in  his  youth  his  own  extreme  sobriety  gave  constant 
offence  to  his  grandfather,  and  to  his  comrades  in  the 
army ;  and  only  by  showing  the  latter  that  he  would 
sooner  fight  than  be  bullied  to  drink  to  excess  could  he 
obtain  peace.  Unhappily,  poor  man  !  while  his  grand- 
father, who  seldom  went  to  bed  quite  sober  for  forty 
years,  lived  to  the  fine  old  age  of  eighty-two,  enjoy- 
ing good  health  to  the  last,  his  temperate  grandson  in- 
herited the  gout  and  in  his  latter  years  was  a  martyr 
thereto.  Among  the  exceedingly  beautiful  old  Indian 
and  old  Worcester  china  which  belonged  to  Thomas 
Cobbe,  and  showed  his  good  taste  and  also  the  splendid 
scale  of  his  entertainments  (one  dessert-service  for 
thirty-six  persons  was  magnificent),  there  stands  a  large 
goblet  calculated  to  hold  three  bottles  of  wine.  This 
glass  (tradition  avers)  used  to  be  filled  with  claret,  seven 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  17 

guineas  were  placed  at  the  bottom,  and  he  who  drank 
it  pocketed  the  coin. 

The  behavior  of  these  Anglo-Irish  gentry  of  the  last 
century  to  their  tenants  and  dependants  seems  to  have 
proceeded  on  the  truly  Irish  principle  of  being  gener- 
ous before  you  are  just.  The  poor  people  lived  in  mis- 
erable hovels  which  nobody  dreamed  of  repairing ;  but 
then  they  were  welcome  to  come  and  eat  and  drink  at 
the  great  house  on  every  excuse  or  without  any  excuse 
at  all.  This  state  of  things  was  so  perfectly  in  har- 
mony with  Celtic  ideas  that  the  days  when  it  prevailed 
are  still  sighed  after  as  the  "good  old  times."  Of 
course  there  was  a  great  deal  of  Lady  Bountiful  busi- 
ness, and  also  of  medical  charity  work  going  forward. 
Archbishop  Cobbe  was  fully  impressed  with  the  merits 
of  the  Tar-water  so  marvellously  set  forth  by  his  suf- 
fragan, Bishop  Berkeley,  and  I  have  seen  in  his  hand- 
writing in  a  book  of  his  wife's  cookery  receipts,  a  re- 
ceipt for  making  it,  beginning  with  the  formidable  item : 
"  Take  six  gallons  of  the  best  French  brandy."  Lady 
Betty  was  a  famous  compounder  of  simples,  and  of 
things  that  were  not  simple,  and  a  "  Chilblain  Plaister  " 
which  bore  her  name,  was  not  many  years  ago  still  to 
be  procured  in  the  chemists'  shops  in  Bath.  I  fear  her 
prescriptions  were  not  always  of  so  unambitious  a  kind 
as  this.  One  day  she  stopped  a  man  on  the  road  and 
asked  his  name.  "Ah,  then,  my  lady,"  was  the  reply, 
"  don't  you  remember  me  ?  Why,  I  am  the  husband 
of  the  woman  your  Ladyship  gave  the  medicine  to  ;  and 
she  died  the  next  day.     Long  life  to  your  Ladyship  !  " 

As  I  have  said,  the  open  housekeeping  at  Newbridge 
at  last  came  to  an  end,  and  the  family  migrated  to  No. 
9  and  No.  22,  Marlborough  Buildings,  Bath,  where  two 
generations  spent  their  latter  years,  died,  and  were 
buried  in  Weston  churchyard,  where  I  have  lately  re- 
stored their  tombstones. 

My  grandfather  died  long  before  his  father,  and  my 


18  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

father,  another  Charles  Cobbe,  found  himself  at  eight- 
een pretty  well  his  own  master,  the  eldest  of  five  bro- 
thers. He  had  been  educated  at  Winchester,  where  his 
ancestors  for  eleven  generations  went  to  school  in  the 
old  days  of  Swarraton ;  and  to  the  end  of  his  life  he 
was  wont  to  recite  lines  of  Anacreon  learned  therein. 
But  his  tastes  were  active  rather  than  studious,  and  dis- 
liking the  idea  of  hanging  about  his  mother's  house  till 
his  grandfather's  death  should  put  him  in  possession  of 
Newbridge,  he  listened  with  an  enchanted  ear  to  a  glow- 
ing account  which  somebody  gave  him  of  India,  where 
the  Mahratta  wars  were  just  beginning. 

Without  much  reflection  or  delay,  he  obtained  a  cor- 
net's commission  in  the  19th  Light  Dragoons  and  sailed 
for  Madras.  Very  shortly  he  was  engaged  in  active 
service  under  Wellesley,  who  always  treated  him  with 
special  kindness  as  another  Anglo-Irish  gentleman. 
He  fought  at  many  minor  battles  and  sieges,  and  also 
at  Assaye  and  Argauin  ;  receiving  his  medal  for  these 
two,  just  fifty  years  afterwards.  I  shall  write  of  this 
again  a  little  further  on  in  this  book. 

At  last  he  fell  ill  of  the  fever  of  the  country,  which 
in  those  days  was  called  "  ague,"  and  was  left  in  a  re- 
mote place  absolutely  helpless.  He  was  lying  in  bed 
one  day  in  his  tent  when  a  Hindoo  came  in  and  ad- 
dressed him  very  courteously,  asking  after  his  health. 
My  father  incautiously  replied  that  he  was  quite  pros- 
trated by  the  fever.  "  What !  Not  able  to  move  at  all, 
not  to  walk  a  sten  ?  "  said  his  visitor.     "  No  !    I  cannot 

i. 

stir,"  said  my  father.  "  Oh,  in  that  case,  then,"  said 
the  man,  —  and  without  more  ado  he  seized  my  father's 
desk,  in  which  were  all  his  money  and  valuables,  and 
straightway  made  off  with  it  before  my  father  could 
summon  his  servants.  His  condition,  thus  left  alone  in 
an  enemy's  country  without  money,  was  bad  enough,  but 
he  managed  to  send  a  trusty  messenger  to  Sir  Arthur 
Wellesley,  who  promptly  lent  him  all  he  required. 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  19 

Finding  that  there  was  no  chance  of  his  health  being 
sufficiently  restored  in  India  to  permit  of  further  active 
service,  and  the  Mahratta  wars  being  practically  con- 
cluded, my  father  sold  his  commission  of  Lieutenant 
and  returned  to  England,  quietly  letting  himself   into 
his  mother's  house  in  Bath  on  his  return,  by  the  latch- 
key which  he  had  carried  with  him  through   all  his 
journeys.     All  his  life  long  the  impress  made  both  on 
his  outward  bearing  and  character  by  those  five  years 
of  war  were  very  visible.     He  was  a  fine   soldier-like 
figure,  six  feet  high,  and  had  ridden  eighteen  stone  in 
his  full  equipment.     His  face  was,  I  suppose,  ugly,  but 
it  was  very  intelligent,  very  strong  willed,   and  very 
unmistakably   that    of   a  gentleman.     He   was   under- 
jawed,  very  pale,  with  a  large  nose,  and  small,  gray, 
very  lively  eyes  ;  but  he  had  a  beautiful  white  forehead 
from  which  his  hair,  even  in  old  age,  grew  handsomely, 
and  his  head  was  very  well  set  on  his  broad  shoulders. 
He  rode  admirably,  and  a  better  figure  on   horseback 
could  not  be  seen.     At  all  times  there  was  an  aspect 
of   strength  and  command   about  him,  which   his  vig- 
orous will  and  (truth  compels  me  to  add)  his  not  sel- 
dom fiery  temper  fully  sustained.     On  the  many  occa- 
sions when  we  had  dinner  parties  at  Newbridge,  he  was 
a  charming,  gay,  and  courteous  host ;  and  I  remember 
being  struck,  when  he  once  wore  a  court  dress  and  took 
me  with  him  to  pay  his  respects  to  a  Tory  Lord  Lieuten- 
ant, by  the  contrast  which  his  figure  and  bearing  pre- 
sented to  that  of  nearly  all  the  other  men  in  similar 
attire.     They  looked  as  if  they  were  masquerading,  and 
he  as  if  the  lace-ruffles  and  plum  coat  and  sword  were 
his   habitual   dress.     He   had  beautiful  hands,  of    ex- 
traordinary strength. 

One  day  he  was  walking  with  one  of  his  lady  cousins 
on  his  arm  in  the  street.  A  certain  famous  prize-fight- 
ing bully,  the  Sayers  or  Heenan  of  the  period,  came  up 


20  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

hustling  and  elbowing  every  passenger  off  the  pave- 
ment. When  my  father  saw  him  approach  he  made  his 
cousin  take  his  left  arm,  and  as  the  prize-fighter  pre- 
pared to  shoulder  him,  he  delivered  with  his  right  fist, 
without  raising  it,  a  blow  which  sent  the  ruffian  faint- 
ing into  the  arms  of  his  companions.  Having  depos- 
ited his  cousin  in  a  shop,  my  father  went  back  for 
the  sequel  of  the  adventure,  and  was  told  that  the 
"Chicken"  (or  whatever  he  was  called)  had  had  his 
ribs  broken. 

After  his  return  from  India,  my  father  soon  sought 
a  wife.  He  flirted  sadly,  I  fear,  with  his  beautiful 
cousin,  Louisa  Beresford,  the  daughter  of  his  great- 
uncle,  the  Archbishop  of  Tuam ;  and  one  of  the  ways 
in  which  he  endeavored  to  ingratiate  himself  was  to 
carry  about  at  all  times  a  provision  of  bonbons  and 
barley-sugar,  with  which  to  ply  the  venerable  and  sweet- 
tootlied  prelate,  who  was  generally  known  as  "The 
Beauty  of  Holiness."  How  the  wooing  would  have 
prospered  cannot  be  told,  but  before  it  had  reached  a 
crisis  a  far  richer  lover  appeared  on  the  scene,  —  Mr. 
Hope.  "  Anastasius  Hope,"  as  he  was  called  from  the 
work  of  which  he  was  the  author,  was  immensely 
weathy,  and  a  man  of  great  taste  in  art,  but  he  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  so  excessively  ugly  that  a  painter 
whom  he  offended  by  not  buying  his  picture  depicted 
him  and  Miss  Beresford  as  "  Beauty  and  the  Beast,"  and 
exhibited  his  painting  at  the  Bath  Pump-room,  where 
her  brother,  John  Beresford  (afterwards  the  second 
Lord  Decies),  cut  it  deliberately  to  pieces.  An  engage- 
ment between  Mr.  Hope  and  Miss  Beresford  was 
announced  not  long  after  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Hope  in 
Bath ;  and  my  mother,  then  Miss  Conway,  going  to  pay 
a  visit  of  congratulation  to  Miss  Beresford,  found  her 
reclining  on  a  blue  silk  sofa  appropriately  perusing  "  The 
Pleasures  of  Hope."  After  the  death  of  Mr.  Hope  (by 
whom  she  was  the  mother  of  Mr.  Beresford  Hope,  Mr. 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  21 

Adrian  and  Mr.  Henry  Hope),  Mrs.  Hope  married  the 
illegitimate  son  of  her  uncle,  the  Marquis  of  Water- 
ford,  —  Field  Marshal  Lord  Beresford,  —  a  fine  old  vefc 
eran,  with  whom  she  long  lived  happily  in  the  corner 
house  in  Cavendish  Square,  where  my  father  and  bro- 
thers always  found  a  warm  welcome. 

At  length,  after  some  delays,  my  father  had  the  great 
good  fortune  to  induce  my  dear  mother  to  become  his 
wife,  and  they  were  married  at  Bath,  March  13th, 
1809.  Frances  Conway  was,  as  I  have  said,  daughter  of 
Captain  Thomas  Conway  of  Morden  Park.  Her  father 
and  mother  both  died  whilst  she  was  young  and  she  was 
sent  to  the  famous  school  of  Mrs.  Devis,  in  Queen 
Square,  Bloomsbury,  of  which  I  shall  have  something 
presently  to  say,  and  afterwards  lived  with  her  grand- 
mother, who  at  her  death  bequeathed  to  her  a  handsome 
legacy,  at  Southampton.  When  her  grandmother  died, 
she,  being  then  sixteen  years  of  age,  received  an  invita- 
tion from  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Champion  to  live  with  them 
and  become  their  adopted  daughter.  The  history  of 
this  invitation  is  rather  touching.  Mrs.  Champion's 
parents  had,  many  years  before,  suffered  great  reverses, 
and  my  mother's  grandfather  had  done  much  to  help 
them,  and,  in  particular,  had  furnished  means  for  Mrs. 
Champion  to  go  out  to  India.  She  returned  after 
twenty  years  as  the  childless  wife  of  the  rich  and 
kindly  old  Colonel,  the  friend  of  Warren  Hastings,  who 
having  been  commander-in-chief  of  the  Forces  of  the 
East  India  Company  had  had  a  good  "  shake  of  the 
Pagoda  tree."  She  repaid  to  the  grandchild  the  kind- 
ness done  by  the  grandfather;  and  was  henceforth 
really  a  mother  to  my  mother,  who  dearly  loved  both 
her  and  Colonel  Champion.  In  their  beautiful  house.  No. 
29,  Koyal  Crescent,  she  saw  all  the  society  of  Bath  in 
its  palmiest  days,  Mrs.  Champion's  Wednesday  evening 
parties  being  among  the  most  important  in  the  place. 
My  mother's   part  as  daughter  of  the  house  was   an 


22  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

agreeable  one,  and  her  social  talents  and  accomplish- 
ments fitted  her  perfectly  for  the  part.  The  gentle 
gayety,  the  sweet  dignity  and  ease  of  her  manners  and 
conversation  remain  to  me  as  the  memory  of  something 
exquisite,  far  different  even  from  the  best  manner  and 
talk  of  my  own  or  the  present  generation  ;  and  I  know 
that  the  same  impression  was  always  made  on  her  visi- 
tors in  her  old  age.  I  can  compare  it  to  nothing  but 
the  delicate  odor  of  the  dried  rose  leaves  with  which 
her  china  vases  were  filled  and  her  wardrobes  perfumed. 
I  hardly  know  whether  my  mother  were  really  beau- 
tiful, though  many  of  the  friends  who  remembered  her 
in  early  womanhood  spoke  of  her  as  being  so.  To  me 
her  face  was  always  the  loveliest  in  the  world ;  indeed 
it  was  the  one  through  which  my  first  dawning  percep- 
tion of  beauty  was  awakened.  I  can  remember  looking 
at  her  as  I  lay  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  where  many  of 
her  suffering  hours  were  spent,  and  suddenly  saying, 
"  Mamma,  you  are  so  pretty ! "  She  laughed  and  kissed 
me,  saying,  "  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  my  child  ;  "  but 
that  moment  really  brought  the  revelation  to  me  of  that 
wonderful  thing  in  God's  creation,  the  Beautiful !  She 
had  fine  features,  a  particularly  delicate,  rather  thin- 
lipped  mouth ;  magnificent  chestnut  hair,  which  re- 
mained scarcely  changed  in  color  or  quantity  till  her 
death  at  seventy  years  of  age  ;  and  the  clear,  pale  com- 
plexion and  hazel  eyes  which  belong  to  such  hair.  She 
always  dressed  very  well  and  carefully.  I  never  remem- 
ber seeing  her  downstairs  except  in  some  rich  dark  silk, 
and  with  a  good  deal  of  fine  lace  about  her  cap  and  old- 
fashioned  fichu.  Her  voice  and  low  laughter  were  sin- 
gularly sweet,  and  she  possessed  both  in  speaking  and 
writing  a  full  and  varied  diction  which  in  later  years 
she  carefully  endeavored  to  make  me  share,  instead  of 
satisfying  myself,  in  school-girl  fashion,  with  making 
one  word  serve  a  dozen  purposes.  She  was  an  almost 
omnivorous  reader,  and,  according  to  the  standard  of 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  23 

female  education  in  her  generation,  highly  cultivated  in 
every  way  :  a  good  musician  with  a  very  sweet  touch  of 
the  piano,  and  speaking  French  perfectly  well. 

Immediately  after  their  marriage  my  parents  took 
possession  of  Newbridge,  and  my  father  began  earn- 
estly the  fulfilment  of  all  the  duties  of  a  country  gentle- 
man, landlord,  and  magistrate.  My  mother,  indeed, 
used  laughingly  to  aver  that  he  "  went  to  jail  on  their 
wedding  day,"  for  he  stopped  at  Bristol  on  the  road  and 
visited  a  new  prison  with  a  view  to  introducing  im- 
provements into  Irish  jails.  It  was  due  principally  to 
his  exertions  that  the  county  jail,  the  now  celebrated 
Kilmainham,  was  afterwards  erected. 

Newbridge  having  been  deserted  for  nearly  thirty 
years,  the  woods  had  been  sorely  injured  and  the  house 
and  out-buildings  dilapidated,  but  with  my  father's 
energy  and  my  mother's  money  things  were  put 
straight ;  and  from  that  time  till  his  death  in  1857  my 
father  lived  and  worked  among  his  people. 

Though  often  hard  pressed  to  carry  out  with  a  very 
moderate  income  all  his  projects  of  improvements,  he 
was  never  in  debt.  One  by  one  he  rebuilt  or  re-roofed 
almost  every  cottage  on  his  estate,  making  what  had 
been  little  better  than  pig-styes,  fit  for  human  habi- 
tation ;  and  when  he  found  that  his  annual  rents  could 
never  suffice  to  do  all  that  was  required  in  this  way  for 
his  tenants  in  his  mountain  property,  he  induced  my 
eldest  brother,  then  just  of  age,  to  join  with  him  in 
selling  two  of  the  pictures  which  were  the  heirlooms  of 
the  family  and  the  pride  of  the  house,  a  Gaspar  Poussin 
and  a  Hobbema,  which  last  now  adorns  the  walls  of 
Dorchester  House.  I  remember  as  a  child  seeing  the 
tears  in  his  eyes  as  this  beautiful  painting  was  taken 
out  of  the  room  in  which  it  had  been  like  a  perpetual 
ray  of  sunshine.  But  the  sacrifice  was  completed,  and 
eighty  good  stone  and  slate  "  Hobbema  Cottages,"  as  we 
called  them,  soon  rose  all  over  Glenasmoil.     Be  it  noted 


24  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

by  those  who  deny  every  merit  in  an  Anglo-Irish  land- 
lord, that  not  a  farthing  was  added  to  the  rent  of  the 
tenants  who  profited  by  this  real  act  of  self-denial. 

All  this  however  refers  to  later  years.  I  have  now 
reached  to  the  period  when  I  may  introduce  myself  on 
the  scene.  Before  doing  so,  however,  I  am  tempted  to 
print  here  a  letter  which  my  much  valued  friend,  Miss 
Felicia  Skene,  of  Oxford,  has  written  to  me  on  learning 
that  I  am  preparing  this  autobiography.  She  is  one  of 
the  very  few  now  living  who  can  remember  my  mother, 
and  I  gratefully  quote  what  she  has  written  of  her,  as 
corroborating  my  own  memories,  else,  perhaps,  dis- 
counted by  the  reader  as  colored  by  a  daughter's  par- 
tiality. 

April  4th,  1894. 

My  Dearest  Frances  :  —  I  know  well  that  in  re- 
calling the  days  of  your  bright  youth  in  your  grand  old 
home,  the  most  prominent  figure  amongst  those  who 
surrounded  you  then  must  be  that  of  your  justly  idol- 
ized mother,  and  I  cannot  help  wishing  to  add  my  testi- 
mony, as  of  one  unbiassed  by  family  ties,  to  all  that 
you  possessed  in  her  while  she  remained  with  you ;  and 
all  that  you  so  sadly  lost  when  she  was  taken  from  you. 
To  remember  the  chatelaine  of  Newbridge  is  to  recall 
one  of  the  fairest  and  sweetest  memories  of  my  early 
life.  When  I  first  saw  that  lovely,  gracious  lady  with 
her  almost  angelic  countenance  and  her  perfect  dignity 
of  manner,  I  had  just  come  from  a  gay  Eastern  capital, 
—  my  home  from  childhood,  where  no  such  vision  of  a 
typical  English  gentlewoman  had  ever  appeared  before 
me  ;  and  the  impression  she  made  upon  me  was  there- 
fore almost  a  revelation  of  what  a  refined,  high-bred 
lady  could  be  in  all  that  was  pure  and  lovely  and  of 
good  report,  and  yet  I  think  I  only  shared  in  the  fasci- 
nation which  she  exercised  on  all  who  came  within  the 
sphere  of  her  influence.  To  me,  almost  a  stranger, 
whom  she  welcomed  as  your  friend  under  her  roof,  her 


FAMILY  AND  HOME.  25 

exquisite  courtesy  would  alone  have  been  most  charm- 
ing, but  for  your  sake  she  showed  me  all  the  tenderness 
of  her  sweet  sympathetic  nature,  and  it  was  no  marvel 
to  me  that  she  was  the  idol  of  her  children  and  the 
object  of  deepest  respect  and  admiration  to  all  who 
knew  ber. 

Beautiful  Newbridge  with  its  splendid  hospitality  is 
like  a  dream  to  me  now,  of  what  a  gentleman's  estate 
and  country  home  could  be  in  those  days  when  ancient 
race  and  noble  family   traditions  were   still   of   some 

account. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

F.  M.  F.  Skene. 

13,  New  Inn  Hall  Street,  Oxford. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CHILDHOOD. 

I  was  born  on  the  4th  December,  1822,  at  sunrise  in 
the  morning.  There  had  been  a  memorable  storm  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  Dublin,  where  my  father  had  taken 
a  house  that  my  mother  might  be  near  her  doctor,  was 
strewn  with  the  wrecks  of  trees  and  chimney  pots.  My 
parents  had  already  four  sons,  and  after  the  interval  of 
five  years  since  the  birth  of  the  youngest,  a  girl  was  by 
no  means  welcome.  I  have  never  had  reason,  however, 
to  complain  of  being  less  cared  for  or  less  well  treated 
in  every  way  than  my  brothers.  If  I  have  become  in 
mature  years  a  "  Woman's  Rights'  Woman  "  it  has  not 
been  because  in  my  own  person  I  have  been  made  to 
feel  a  Woman's  Wrongs.  On  the  contrary,  my  bro- 
thers' kindness  and  tenderness  to  me  have  been  unfail- 
ing from  my  infancy.  I  was  their  "little  Fa',"  their 
pet  and  plaything  when  they  came  home  for  their  holi- 
days ;  and  rough  words,  not  to  speak  of  knocks,  never 
reached  me  from  any  of  them  or  from  my  many  mascu- 
line cousins,  some  of  whom,  as  my  father's  wards,  I 
hardly  distinguished  in  childhood  from  brothers. 

A  few  months  after  my  birth  my  parents  moved  to  a 
house  named  Bower  Hill  'Lodge  in  Melksham,  which 
my  father  hired,  I  believe,  to  be  near  his  boys  at  school, 
and  I  have  some  dim  recollections  of  the  verandah  of 
the  house,  and  also  of  certain  raisins  which  I  appropri- 
ated, and  of  suffering  direful  punishment  at  my  father's 
hands  for  the  crime  !  Before  I  was  four  years  old  we 
returned  to  Newbridge,  and  I  was  duly  installed  with 


CHILDHOOD.  27 

my  good  old  Irish  nurse,  Mary  Malone,  in  the  large 
nursery  at  the  end  of  the  north  corridor  —  the  most 
charming  room  for  a  child's  abode  I  have  ever  seen.  It 
was  so  distant  from  the  regions  inhabited  by  my  parents 
that  I  was  at  full  liberty  to  make  any  amount  of  noise  I 
pleased ;  and  from  the  three  windows  I  possessed  a 
commanding  view  of  the  stable  yard,  Avherein  there  was 
always  visible  an  enchanting  spectacle  of  dogs,  cats, 
horses,  grooms,  gardeners,  and  milkmaids.  A  grand  old 
courtyard  it  is  :  a  quadrangle  about  a  rood  in  size  sur- 
rounded by  stables,  coach-houses,  kennels,  a  laundry,  a 
beautiful  dairy,  a  laborers'  room,  a  paint  shop,  a  carpen- 
ter's shop,  a  range  of  granaries  and  fruitlofts  with  a 
great  clock  in  the  pediment  in  the  centre,  and  a  well 
in  the  midst  of  all.  Behind  the  stables  and  the  kennels 
appear  the  tops  of  walnut  and  chestnut  trees,  and  over 
the  coach-houses  on  the  other  side  can  be  seen  the  beau- 
tiful old  kitchen  garden  of  six  acres  with  its  lichen- 
covered  red  brick  walls,  backed  again  by  trees,  and  its 
formal  straight  terraces  and  broad  grass  walks. 

In  this  healthful,  delightful  nursery,  and  in  walks 
with  my  nurse  about  the  lawns  and  shrubberies,  the  first 
years  of  my  happy  childhood  went  by  ;  fed  in  body 
with  the  freshest  milk  and  eggs  and  fruit,  everything 
best  for  a  child ;  and  in  mind  supplied  only  with  the 
simple,  sweet  lessons  of  my  gentle  mother.  No  un- 
wholesome food,  physical  or  moral,  was  ever  allowed  to 
come  in  my  way  till  body  and  soul  had  almost  grown 
to  their  full  stature.  When  I  compare  such  a  lot  as 
this  (the  common  lot,  of  course,  of  English  girls  of  the 
richer  classes,  blessed  with  good  fathers  and  mothers) 
with  the  case  of  the  hapless  young  creatures  who  are 
fed  from  infancy  with  insufficient  and  unwholesome 
food,  perhaps  dosed  with  gin  and  opium  from  the  cradle, 
and  who,  even  as  they  acquire  language,  learn  foul 
words,  curses,  and  blasphemies,  — when  I  compare,  I 
say,  my  happy  lot  with  the   miserable  one  of  tens  of 


28  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

thousands  of  my  brother  men  and  sister  women,  I  feel 
appalled  to  reflect  by  how  different  a  standard  must 
they  and  I  be  judged  by  eternal  Justice  ! 

In  such  an  infancy  the  events  were  few,  but  I  can 
remember  with  amusement  the  great  exercise  of  my 
little  mind  concerning  a  certain  mythical  being  known 
as  "  Peter."  The  story  affords  a  droll  example  of  the 
way  in  which  fetiches  are  created  among  child-minded 
savages.  One  day  (as  my  mother  long  afterwards 
explained  to  me  ),  I  had  been  hungrily  easing  a  piece 
of  bread  and  butter  out  of  doors,  when  one  of  the  grey- 
hounds, of  which  my  father  kept  several  couples, 
bounded  past  me  and  snatched  the  bread  and  butter 
from  my  little  hands.  The  outcry  which  I  was  prepar- 
ing to  raise  on  my  loss  was  suddenly  stopped  by  the 
bystanders  judiciously  awakening  my  sympathy  in 
Peter's  enjoyment,  and  I  was  led  up  to  stroke  the  big 
dog  and  make  friends  with  him.  Seeing  how  success- 
ful was  this  diversion,  my  nurse  thenceforward  adopted 
the  practice  of  seizing  everything  in  the  way  of  food, 
knives,  etc.,  which  it  was  undesirable  I  should  handle, 
and  also  of  shutting  objectionable  open  doors  and 
windows,  exclaiming  "  Oh  !  Peter  !  Peter  has  got  it ! 
Peter  has  shut  it ! "  —  as  the  case  might  be.  Ac- 
customed to  succumb  to  this  unseen  Fate  under  the 
name  of  Peter,  and  soon  forgetting  the  dog,  I  came  to 
think  there  was  an  all-powerful,  invisible  Being  con- 
stantly behind  the  scenes,  and  had  so  far  pictured  him 
as  distinct  from  the  real  original  Peter  that  on  one 
occasion  when  I  was  taken  to  visit  at  some  house  where 
there  was  an  odd  looking  end  of  a  beam  jutting  out 
under  the  ceiling,  I  asked  in  awe-struck  tones  :  "  Mamma ! 
is  that  Peter's  head  ?  " 

My  childhood,  though  a  singularly  happy,  was  an 
unusually  lonely  one.  My  dear  mother  very  soon 
after  I  was  born  became  lame  from  a  trifling  accident 
to   her   ankle  (ill-treated,  unhappily,  by  the  doctors) 


CHILDHOOD.  29 

and  she  was  never  once  able  in  all  her  life  to  take  a 
walk  with  me.  Of  course  I  was  brought  to  her  con- 
tinually :  first  to  be  nursed  —  for  she  fulfilled  that 
sacred  duty  of  motherhood  to  all  her  children,  believing 
that  she  could  never  be  so  sure  of  the  healthfulness  of 
any  other  woman's  constitution  as  of  her  own.  Later, 
I  seem  to  my  own  memory  to  have  been  often  cuddled 
up  close  to  her  on  her  sofa,  or  learning  my  little 
lessons,  mounted  on  my  high  chair  beside  her,  or  repeat- 
ing the  Lord's  Prayer  at  her  knee.  All  these  memories 
are  infinitely  sweet  to  me.  Her  low,  gentle  voice,  her 
smile,  her  soft  breast  and  arms,  the  atmosphere  of 
dignity  which  always  surrounded  her,  the  very  odor 
of  her  clothes  and  lace,  redolent  of  dried  roses,  come 
back  to  me  after  three  score  years  with  nothing  to  mar 
their  sweetness.  She  never  once  spoke  angrily  or 
harshly  to  me  in  all  her  life,  much  less  struck  or 
punished  me;  and  I  —  it  is  a  comfort  to  think  it  — 
never,  so  far  as  I  can  recall,  disobeyed  or  seriously 
vexed  her.  She  had  regretted  my  birth,  thinking  that 
she  could  not  live  to  see  me  grow  to  womanhood,  and 
shrinking  from  a  renewal  of  the  cares  of  motherhood 
with  the  additional  anxiety  of  a  daughter's  education. 
But  I  believe  she  soon  reconciled  herself  to  my  exist- 
ence, and  made  me,  first  her  pet,  and  then  her  com- 
panion and  even  her  counsellor.  She  told  me, 
laughingly,  how,  when  I  was  four  years  old,  my  father 
happening  to  be  away  from  home,  she  made  me  dine 
with  her,  and  as  I  sat  in  great  state  beside  her  on  my 
little  chair  I  solemnly  remarked :  "  Mamma,  is  it  not  a 
very  comflin  thing  to  have  a  little  girl  ?  "  an  observation 
which  she  justly  thought  went  to  prove  that  she  had 
betrayed  sufficiently  to  my  infantine  perspicacity  that 
she  enjoyed  my  company  at  least  as  much  as  hers  was 
enjoyed  by  me. 

My  nurse  who  had   attended   all    my  brothers    was 
already  an  elderly  woman  when  recalled  to  Newbridge 


30  FBsiNCES  POWER   COBBE. 

to  take  charge  of  rue ;  and  though  a  clear,  kind  old  soul 
and  an  excellent  nurse,  she  was  naturally  not  much 
of  a  playfelloAV  for  a  little  child,  and  it  was  very  rarely 
indeed  that  I  had  any  young  visitor  in  my  nursery  or 
was  taken  to  see  any  of  my  small  neighbors.  Thus  I 
was  from  infancy  much  thrown  on  my  own  resources 
for  play  and  amusement ;  and  from  that  time  to  this  I 
have  been  rather  a  solitary  mortal,  enjoying  above  all 
things  lonely  walks  and  studies  ;  and  always  finding  my 
spirits  rise  in  hours  and  days  of  isolation.  I  think  I 
may  say  I  have  never  felt  depressed  when  living  alone. 
As  a  child  I  have  been  told  I  was  a  very  merry  little 
chick,  with  a  round,  fair  face,  and  abundance  of  golden 
hair  ;  a  typical  sort  of  Saxon  child.  I  was  subject 
then  and  for  many  years  after  to  furious  fits  of  anger, 
and  on  such  occasions  I  misbehaved  myself  exceedingly. 
"  Nanno  "  was  then  wont  peremptorily  to  push  me  out 
into  the  long  corridor  and  bolt  the  nursery  door  in  my 
face,  saying  in  her  vernacular,  "  Ah,  then !  you  bould 
Puckhawn  (  audacious  child  of  Puck  )  !  I  '11  get  shut  of 
you ! "  I  think  I  feel  now  the  hardness  of  that  door 
against  my  little  toes,  as  I  kicked  at  it  in  frenzy. 
Sometimes,  when  things  were  very  bad  indeed,  Nanno 
conducted  me  to  the  end  of  the  corridor  at  the  top  of  a 
very  long  winding  stone  stair,  near  the  bottom  of  which 
my  father  occasionally  passed  on  his  way  to  the  stables. 
"  Yes,  Sir  !  Yes,  Sir !  She  '11  be  good  immadiently,  Sir, 
you  need  n't  come  upstairs,  Sir  ! "  Then,  sotto  voce,  to 
me,  "  Don't  ye  hear  the  Masther  ?  Be  quiet  now,  my 
darlint,  or  he  '11  come  up  the  stairs  ! "  Of  course  "  the 
Masther  "  seldom  or  never  was  really  within  earshot  on 
these  occasions.  Had  he  been  so  ISTanno  would  have 
been  the  last  person  seriously  to  invoke  his  dreaded 
interference  in  my  discipline.  But  the  alarm  usually 
sufficed  to  reduce  me  to  submission.  I  had  plenty  of 
toddling  about  out  of  doors  and  sitting  in  the  sweet 
grass  making  daisy  and  dandelion  chains,  and  at  home 


CHILDHOOD.  31 

playing  with  the  remnants  of  my  brother's  Noah's  Ark, 
and  a  magnificent  old  baby-house  which  stood  in  one  of 
the  bedrooms,  and  was  so  large  that  I  can  dimly 
remember  climbing  up  and  getting  into  the  doll's  draw- 
ing-room. 

My  fifth  birthday  was  the  first  milestone  on  Life's 
road  which  I  can  recall.  I  recollect  being  brought  in 
the  morning  into  my  mother's  darkened  bedroom  (  she 
was  already  then  a  confirmed  invalid),  and  how  she 
kissed  and  blessed  me,  and  gave  me  childish  presents, 
and  also  a  beautiful  emerald  ring  which  I  still  possess, 
and  pearl  bracelets  which  she  fastened  on  my  little 
arms.  No  doubt  she  wished  to  make  sure  that  when- 
ever she  might  die  these  trinkets  should  be  known  to  be 
mine.  She  and  my  father  also  gave  me  a  Bible  and 
Prayer  Book,  which  I  could  read  quite  well,  and  proudly 
took  next  Sunday  to  church  for  my  first  attendance, 
when  the  solemn  occasion  was  much  disturbed  by  a 
little  girl  in  a  pew  below  howling  for  envy  of  my  white 
beaver  bonnet,  displayed  in  the  fore-front  of  the  gallery 
which  formed  our  family  seat.  "  Why  did  little  Miss 
Robinson  cry?"  I  was  deeply  inquisitive  on  the  sub- 
ject, having  then  and  always  during  my  childhood  re- 
garded "  best  clothes  "  with  abhorrence. 

Two  years  later  my  grandmother,  having  bestowed  on 
me,  at  Bath,  a  sky-blue  silk  pelisse,  I  managed  nefa- 
riously to  tumble  down  on  purpose  into  a  gutter  full  of 
melted  snow  the  first  day  it  was  put  on,  so  as  to  be  per- 
mitted to  resume  my  little  cloth  coat. 

Now,  aged  five,  I  was  emancipated  from  the  nursery 
and  allowed  to  dine  thenceforward  at  my  parents'  late 
dinner,  while  my  good  nurse  was  settled  for  the  rest  of 
her  days  in  a  pretty  ivy-covered  cottage  with  large  gar- 
den, at  the  end  of  the  shrubbery.  She  lived  there  for 
several  years  with  an  old  woman  for  servant,  whom  I  can 
well  remember,  but  who  must  have  been  of  great  age, 
for  she  had  been  under-dairy  maid  to  my  great  great- 


32  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

grandfather,  the  Archbishop,  and  used  to  tell  us  stories 
of  "old  times."  This  "old  Ally's"  great-grand- 
children were  still  living,  recently  in  the  family  service 
in  the  same  cottage  which  poor  "  Nanno "  occupied. 
Ally  was  the  last  wearer  of  the  real  old  Irish  scarlet 
cloak  in  our  part  of  the  country ;  and  I  can  remember 
admiring  it  greatly  when  I  used  to  run  by  her  side  and 
help  her  to  carry  her  bundle  of  sticks.  Since  those 
days,  even  the  long  blue  frieze  cloak  which  succeeded 
universally  to  the  scarlet  —  a  most  comfortable,  decent, 
and  withal  graceful  peasant  garment,  very  like  the  blue 
cotton  one  of  the  Arab  fellah-women — has  itself 
nearly  or  totally  disappeared  in  Fingal. 

On  the  retirement  of  my  nurse,  the  charge  of  my 
little  person  was  committed  to  my  mother's  maid  and 
housekeeper,  Martha  Jones.  She  came  to  my  mother  a 
blooming  girl  of  eighteen,  and  she  died  of  old  age  and 
sorrow  when  I  left  Newbridge  at  my  father's  death 
half  a  century  afterwards.  She  was  a  fine,  fair,  broad- 
shouldered  woman,  with  a  certain  refinement  above  her 
class.  Her  father  had  been  an  officer  in  the  army,  and 
she  was  educated  (not  very  extensively)  at  some  little 
school  in  Dublin  where  her  particular  friend  was 
Moore's  (the  poet's)  sister.  She  used  to  tell  us  how 
Moore  as  a  lad  was  always  contriving  to  get  into  the 
school  and  romping  with  the  girls.  The  legend  has  suf- 
ficient verisimilitude  to  need  no  confirmation  ! 

"  Joney "  was  indulgence  itself,  and  under  her  mild 
sway,  and  with  my  mother  for  instructress  in  my  little 
lessons  of  spelling  and  geography,  Mrs.  Barbauld,  Dr. 
Watts,  and  Jane  Taylor,  I  was  as  happy  a  little  animal 
as  well  might  be.  One  day,  being  allowed  as  usual  to 
play  on  the  grass  before  the  drawing-room  windows,  I 
took  it  into  my  head  that  I  should  dearly  like  to  go  and 
pay  a  visit  to  my  nurse  at  her  cottage  at  the  end  of  the 
shrubbery.  "  Joney  "  had  taken  me  there  more  than 
once,  but  still  the  mile-long  shrubbery,  some  of  it  very 


CHILDHOOD.  33 

dark  with  fir  trees  and  great  laurels,  complicated  with, 
crossing  walks,  and  containing  two  or  three  alarming 
shelter-huts  and  tonnelles  (which  I  long  after  regarded 
with  awe),  was  a  tremendous  pilgrimage  to  encounter 
alone.  After  some  hesitation  I  set  off ;  ran  as  long  as  I 
could,  and  then  with  panting  chest  and  beating  heart, 
went  on,  daring  not  to  look  to  right  or  left,  till  (after 
ages  as  it  seemed  to  me)  I  reached  the  little  window  of 
my  nurse's  house  in  the  ivy  wall,  and  set  up  —  loud 
enough,  no  doubt  —  a  call  for  "  Nanno  !  "  The  good 
soid  could  not  believe  her  eyes  when  she  found  me 
alone,  but  hugging  me  in  her  arms,  brought  me  back  as 
fast  as  she  could  to  my  distracted  mother  who  had,  of 
course,  discovered  my  evasion.  Two  years  later,  when 
I  was  seven  years  old,  I  was  naughty  enough  to  run 
away  again,  this  time  in  the  streets  of  Bath,  in  com- 
pany with  a  hoop,  and  the  Town  Crier  was  engaged  to 
"  cry  "  me,  but  I  found  my  way  home  at  last  alone. 
How  curiously  vividly  silly  little  incidents  like  these 
stand  out  in  the  misty  memory  of  childhood,  like  ob- 
jects suddenly  perceived  close  to  us  in  a  fog  !  I  seem 
now,  after  sixty  years,  to  see  my  nurse's  little  brown 
figure  and  white  kerchief,  as  she  rushed  out  and  caught 
her  stray  "  darlint  "  in  her  arms  ;  and  also  I  see  a  digni- 
fied, gouty  gentleman  leaning  on  his  stick,  parading  the 
broad  pavement  of  Bath  Crescent,  up  whose  whole  per- 
son my  misguided  and  muddy  hoop  went  bounding  in 
my  second  escapade.  I  ought  to  apologize  perhaps  to 
the  reader  for  narrating  such  trivial  incidents,  but  they 
have  left  a  charm  in  my  memory. 

At  seven  I  was  provided  with  a  nursery  governess, 
and  my  dear  mother's  lessons  came  to  an  end.  So  gen- 
tle and  sweet  had  they  been  that  I  have  loved  ever 
since  everything  she  taught  me,  and  have  a  vivid  recol- 
lection of  the  old  map  book  from  whence  she  had 
herself  learned  Geography,  and  of  Mrs.  Trimmer's 
Histories,  "  Sacred  "  and  "  Profane ; "  not  forgetting  the 


34  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

almost  incredibly  bad  accompanying  volumes  of  wood- 
cuts, with  poor  Eli  a  complete  smudge  and  Sesostris 
driving  the  nine  kings  (with  their  crowns,  of  course) 
harnessed  to  his  chariot.  Who  would  have  dreamed  we 
should  now  possess  photos  of  the  mummy  of  the  real 
Sesostris  (Eameses  II.),  who  seemed  then  quite  as 
mythical  a  personage  as  Polyphemus  ?  To  remember 
the  hideous  aberrations  of  Art  which  then  illustrated 
books  for  children,  and  compare  them  to  the  exquisite 
pictures  in  "  Little  Folks,"  is  to  realize  one  of  the  many 
changes  the  world  has  seen  since  my  childhood.  Mrs. 
Trimmer's  books  cost,  I  remember  being  told,  ten  shil- 
lings apiece  !  My  governess,  Miss  Kinnear's,  lessons, 
though  not  very  severe  (our  old  doctor,  bless  him  for  it ! 
solemnly  advised  that  I  should  never  be  called  on  to 
study  after  twelve  o'clock),  were  far  from  being  as 
attractive  as  those  of  my  mother,  and  as  soon  as  I 
learned  to  write  I  drew  on  the  gravel  walk  this,  as  I 
conceived,  deeply  touching  and  impressive  sentence : 
"  Lessons  !  Thou  tyrant  of  the  mind/"  I  could  not  at 
all  understand  my  mother's  hilarity  over  this  inscription, 
which  proved  so  convincingly  my  need,  at  all  events, 
of  those  particular  lessons  of  which  Lindley  Murray 
was  the  author.  I  envied  the  peacock  who  could  sit  all 
day  in  the  sun,  and  who  ate  bowls-full  of  the  griddle- 
bread  of  which  I  was  so  fond,  and  never  was  expected 
to  learn  anything  !  Poor  bird,  he  came  to  a  sad  end. 
A  dog  terrified  him  one  day  and  he  took  a  great  flight, 
and  was  observed  to  go  into  one  of  the  tall  limes  near 
the  house,  but  was  never  seen  alive  again.  When  the 
leaves  fell  in  the  autumn  the  rain-washed  feathers  and 
skeleton  of  poor  Pe-ho  were  found  wedged  in  a  fork  of 
the  tree.  He  had  met  the  fate  of  "  Lost  Sir  Massing- 
berd." 

Some  years  later,  my  antipathy  to  lessons  having  not 
at  all  diminished,  I  read  a  book  which  had  just  ap- 
peared, and  of  which  all  the  elders  of  the  house  were 


CHILDHOOD.  35 


talking,  Keith's  "  Signs  of  the  Times."  In  this  work,  as 
I  remember,  it  was  set  forth  that  a  "  Vial  "  was  shortly 
to  be  emptied  into  or  near  the  Euphrates,  after  which 
the  end  of  the  world  was  to  follow  immediately.  The 
writer  accordingly  warned  his  readers  that  they  would 
soon  hear  startling  news  from  the  Euphrates.  From 
that  time  I  persistently  inquired  of  anybody  whom  I  saw 
reading  the  newspaper  (a  small  sheet  which  in  the 
Thirties  only  came  three  times  a  week )  or  who  seemed 
well-informed  about  public  affairs,  "  What  news  was 
there  from  the  Euphrates  ?  "  The  singular  question  at 
last  called  forth  the  inquiry,  "Why  I  wanted  to 
know  ? "  and  I  was  obliged  to  confess  that  I  was  hop- 
ing for  the  emptying  of  the  "  Vial  "  which  would  put 
an  end  to  my  sums  and  spelling  lessons. 

My  seventh  year  was  spent  with  my  parents  at  Bath, 
where  we  had  a  house  for  the  winter  in  James'  Square, 
where  brothers  and  cousins  came  for  the  holidays,  and 
in  London,  where  I  well  remember  going  with  my 
mother  to  see  the  Diorama  in  the  Colosseum  in  Eegent's 
Park,  of  St.  Peter's,  and  a  Swiss  Cottage,  and  the 
statues  of  Tarn  o'  Shanter  and  his  wife  ( which  I  had 
implored  her  to  be  allowed  to  see,  having  imagined 
them  to  be  living  ogres  ),  and  vainly  entreating  to  be 
taken  to  see  the  Siamese  Twins.  This  last  longing, 
however,  was  gratified  just  thirty  years  afterwards. 
We  travelled  back  to  Ireland,  posting  all  the  way  to 
Holyhead  by  the  then  new  high  road  through  Wales 
and  over  the  Menai  Bridge.  My  chief  recollection  of 
the  long  journey  is  humiliating.  A  box  of  Shrewsbury 
cakes,  exactly  like  those  now  sold  in  the  town,  was 
bought  for  me  in  situ,  and  I  was  told  to  bring  it  over  to 
Ireland  to  give  to  my  little  cousin  Charley.  I  was 
pleased  to  give  the  cakes  to  Charley,  but  then  Charley 
was  at  the  moment  far  away,  and  the  cakes  were  always 
at  hand  in  the  carriage ;  and  the  road  was  tedious  and 
the  cakes  delicious ;  and  so  it  came  to  pass  somehow 


36  FRANCES  POWER    COBBE. 

that  I  broke  off  first  a  little  bit,  and  then  another  day 
a  larger  bit,  till  cake  after  cake  vanished,  and  with  sor- 
row and  shame  I  was  obliged  to  present  the  empty  box 
to  Charley  on  my  arrival.  Greediness,  alas  !  has  been  a 
besetting  sin  of  mine  all  my  life. 

This  Charley  was  a  dear  little  boy,  and  about  this 
date  was  occasionally  my  companion.  His  father,  my 
uncle,  was  Captain  William  Cobbe,  R.  N.,  who  had 
fought  under  Nelson,  and  at  the  end  of  the  war  mar- 
ried and  took  a  house  near  Newbridge,  where  he  acted 
as  my  father's  agent.  He  was  a  fine,  brave  fellow,  and 
much  beloved  by  everyone.  One  day,  long  after  his  sud- 
den, untimely  death,  we  heard  from  a  coastguardsman 
who  had  been  a  sailor  in  his  ship,  that  he  had  probably 
caught  the  disease  of  which  he  died  in  the  performance 
of  a  gallant  action,  of  which  he  had  never  told  any  one, 
even  his  wife.  A  man  had  fallen  overboard  from  his 
ship  one  bitterly  cold  night  in  the  northern  seas,  near 
Copenhagen.  My  uncle,  on  hearing  what  had  happened, 
jumped  from  his  warm  berth  and  plunged  into  the  sea, 
where  he  succeeded  in  rescuing  the  sailor,  but  in  doing 
so  caught  a  chill  which  eventually  shortened  his  days. 
He  had  five  children,  the  eldest  being  Charley,  some 
months  younger  than  I.  When  my  uncle  came  over  to 
see  his  brother  and  do  business,  Charley,  as  he  grew  old 
enough  to  take  the  walk,  was  often  allowed  to  come 
with  him ;  and  great  was  my  enjoyment  of  the  un- 
wonted pleasure  of  a  young  companion.  Considerably 
greater,  I  believe,  than  that  of  my  mother  and  govern- 
ess, who  justly  dreaded  the  escapades  which  our  fertile 
little  brains  rarely  failed  to  devise.  We  climbed  over 
everything  climbable  by  aid  of  the  arrangement  that 
Charley  always  mounted  on  my  strong  shoulders  and 
then  helped  me  up.  One  day  my  father  said  to  us  : 
"  Children,  there  is  a  savage  bull  come,  you  must  take 
care  not  to  go  near  him."  Charley  and  I  looked  at  each 
other  and  mutually  understood.     The  next  moment  we 


CHILDHOOD.  37 

were  alone  we  whispered,  "  We  must  get  some  hairs  of 
his  tail !  "  and  away  we  scampered  till  we  found  the  new 
bull  in  a  shed  in  the  cow-yard.  Valiantly  we  seized  the 
tail,  and  as  the  bull  fortunately  paid  no  attention  to  his 
Lilliputian  foes,  we  escaped  in  triumph  with  the  hairs. 
Another  time,  a  lovely  April  evening,  I  remember  we 
were  told  it  was  damp,  and  that  we  must  not  go  out  of 
the  house.  We  had  discovered,  however,  a  door  lead- 
ing out  upon  the  roof,  —  and  we  agreed  that  "  on  "  the 
house  could  not  properly  be  considered  "out"  of  the 
house ;  and  very  soon  we  were  clambering  up  the  slates, 
and  walking  along  the  parapet  at  a  height  of  fifty  or 
sixty  feet  from  the  ground.  My  mother,  passing 
through  one  of  the  halls,  observed  a  group  of  ser- 
vants looking  up  in  evident  alarm  and  making  signs  to 
us  to  come  down.  As  quickly  as  her  feebleness  per- 
mitted she  climbed  to  our  door  of  exit,  and  called  to  us 
over  the  roofs.  Charley  and  I  felt  like  Adam  and  Eve 
on  the  fatal  evening  after  they  had  eaten  the  apple  ! 
After  dreadful  moments  of  hesitation  we  came  down 
and  received  the  solemn  rebuke  and  condemnation  we 
deserved.  It  was  not  a  very  severe  chastisement 
allotted  to  us,  though  we  considered  it  such.  We  were 
told  that  the  game  of  Pope  Joan,  promised  for  the 
evening,  should  not  be  played.  That  was  the  severest, 
if  not  the  only  punishment,  my  mother  ever  inflicted 
on  me. 

On  rainy  days  when  Charley  and  I  were  driven  to 
amuse  ourselves  in  the  great  empty  rooms  and  corridors 
upstairs,  we  were  wont  to  discuss  profound  problems  of 
theology.  I  remember  one  conclusion  relating  thereto 
at  which  we  unanimously  arrived.  Both  of  us  bore  the 
name  of  "  Power  "  as  a  second  name,  in  honor  of  our 
grandmother,  Anne  Trench's  mother,  Fanny  Power  of 
Coreen.  On  this  circumstance  we  founded  the  certainty 
that  we  should  both  go  to  Heaven,  because  we  heard  it 
said  in  church,  "  The  Heavens  and  all  the,  Powers 
therein." 


38  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

Alas  !  poor  "  Little  Charley,"  as  everybody  called 
him,  after  growing  to  be  a  fine  six-foot  fellow,  and.  a 
very  popular  officer,  died  sadly  while  still  young  at  the 
Cape. 

In  those  early  days,  let  us  say  about  my  tenth  year, 
and  for  long  afterwards,  it  was  my  father's  habit  to  fill 
his  house  with  all  the  offshoots  of  the  family  at  Christ- 
mas, and  with  a  good  many  of  them  for  the  Midsummer 
holidays,  when  my  two  eldest  brothers  and  the  young- 
est came  home  from  Charterhouse  and  Oxford,  and  the 
third  from  Sandhurst.  These  brothers  of  mine  were 
kind,  dear  lads,  always  gentle  and  petting  to  their  little 
sister,  who  was  a  mere  baby  when  they  were  schoolboys, 
and  of  course  never  really  a  companion  to  them.  I 
recollect  they  once  tried  to  teach  me  Cricket,  and 
straightway  knocked  me  over  with  a  ball;  and  then 
carried  me,  all  four  in  tears  and  despair,  to  our  mother 
thinking  they  had  broken  my  ribs.  I  was  very  fond  of 
them,  and  thought  a  great  deal  about  their  holidays, 
but  naturally  in  early  years  saw  very  little  of  them. 

Beside  my  brothers,  and  generally  coming  to  New- 
bridge at  the  same  holiday  seasons,  there  was  a  regi- 
ment of  young  cousins,  male  and  female.  My  mother's 
only  brother,  Adjutant  General  Conway,  had  five  chil- 
dren, all  of  whom  were  practically  my  father's  wards 
during  the  years  of  their  education  at  Haileybury  and 
in  a  ladies'  boarding-school  in  London.  Then,  beside 
my  father's  youngest  brother  William's  family  of  five, 
of  whom  I  have  already  spoken,  his  next  eldest  brother, 
George,  of  the  Horse  Artillery  (Lieutenant  General 
Cobbe  in  his  later  years),  had  five  more,  and  finally  the 
third  brother,  Thomas,  went  out  to  India  in  his  youth 
as  aide-de-camp  to  his  cousin,  Lord  Hastings,  held  sev- 
eral good  appointments  there,  married  the  daughter  of 
Azeeze  Khan,  of  Cashmere,  had  by  her  ten  children  (all 
of  whom  passed  into  my  father's  charge)  and  finally 
died,  poor  fellow,  on  his  voyage  home  from  India,  after 


CHILDHOOD.  39 

thirty  years'  absence.  Thus  there  were,  in  fact,  includ- 
ing his  own  children,  thirty  young  people  more  or  less 
my  father's  wards,  and  all  of  them  looking  to  Newbridge 
as  the  place  where  holidays  were  naturally  spent,  and 
to  my  father's  not  very  long  purse  as  the  resource  for 
everybody  in  emergencies.  One  of  them,  indeed,  car- 
ried this  view  of  the  case  rather  unfortunately  far.  A 
gentleman  visiting  us,  happening  to  mention  that  he 
had  lately  been  at  Malta,  Ave  naturally  asked  him  if  he 
had  met  a  young  officer  of  our  name  quartered  there. 
"  Oh  dear,  yes !  a  delightful  fellow !  All  the  ladies 
adore  him.  He  gives  charming  picnics,  and  gets  nose- 
gays for  them  all  from  Naples."  "  I  am  afraid  he  can 
scarcely  afford  that  sort  of  thing,"  some  one  timidly  ob- 
served.   "  Oh,  he  says,"  replied  the  visitor,  "that  he  has 

an  old  uncle  somewhere  who Good  Lord !     I  am 

afraid  I  have  put  my  foot  in  it,"  abruptly  concluded 
our  friend,  noticing  the  looks  exchanged  round  the 
circle. 

My  father's  brother  Henry,  my  godfather,  died  early 
and  unmarried.  He  was  Rector  of  Templeton,  and  was 
very  intimate  with  his  neighbors  there,  the  Edge  worths 
and  Granards.  The  greater  part  of  the  library  at  New- 
bridge, as  it  was  in  my  time,  had  been  collected  by  him, 
and  included  an  alarming  proportion  of  divinity.  The 
story  of  his  life  might  serve  for  such  a  novel  as  his 
friend,  Miss  Edgeworth,  would  have  written  and  en- 
titled "  Procrastination."  He  was  much  attached  for  a 
long  time  to  a  charming  Miss  Lindsay,  who  was  quite 
willing  to  accept  his  hand,  had  he  offered  it.  My  poor 
uncle,  however,  continued  to  flirt  and  dangle  and  to 
postpone  any  definite  declaration,  till  at  last  the  girl's 
mother  —  who,  I  rather  believe,  was  a  Lady  Charlotte 
Lindsay,  well  known  in  her  generation  —  told  her  that 
a  conclusion  must  be  put  to  this  sort  of  thing.  She 
would  invite  Mr.  Cobbe  to  their  house  for  a  fortnight, 
and   during   that   time    every   opportunity   should    be 


40  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

afforded  him  of  making  a  proposal  in  form,  if  he  should 
be  so  minded.  If,  however,  at  the  end  of  this  probation, 
he  had  said  nothing,  Miss  Lindsay  was  to  give  him  up, 
and  he  was  to  be  allowed  no  more  chances  of  addressing 
her.  The  visit  was  paid,  and  nothing  could  be  more 
agreeable  or  devoted  than  my  uncle ;  but  he  did  not 
propose  to  Miss  Lindsay !  The  days  passed,  and  as  the 
end  of  the  allotted  time  drew  near,  the  lady  innocently 
arranged  a  few  walks  en  tete-a-tete,  and  talked  in  a  man- 
ner which  afforded  him  every  opportunity  of  saying  the 
words  which  seemed  always  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 
At  last  the  final  day  arrived.  "  My  dear,"  said  Lady 
Charlotte  (if  such  was  the  mother's  name)  to  her  daugh- 
ter, "  I  shall  go  out  with  the  rest  of  the  party  for  the 
whole  clay  and  leave  you  and  Mr.  Cobbe  together. 
When  I  return,  it  must  be  decided  one  way  or  the 
other." 

The  hours  flew  in  pleasant  and  confidential  talk  — 
still  no  proposal!  Miss  Lindsay,  who  knew  that  the 
final  minutes  of  grace  were  passing  for  her  unconscious 
lover,  once  more  despairingly  tried,  being  really  at- 
tached to  him,  to  make  him  say  something  which  she 
could  report  to  her  mother.  As  he  afterwards  averred 
he  was  on  the  very  brink  of  asking  her  to  marry  him 
when  he  caught  the  sound  of  her  mother's  carriage 
returning  to  the  door,  and  said  to  himself,  "  I  '11  wait 
for  another  opportunity." 

The  opportunity  was  never  granted  to  him.  Lady 
Charlotte  gave  him  his  conge  very  peremptorily  next 
morning.  My  uncle  was  furious,  and  in  despair;  but 
it  was  too  late !  Like  other  disappointed  men  he  went 
off  rashly,  and  almost  immediately  engaged  himself 
(  with  no  delay  this  time )  to  Miss  Flora  Long  of  Rood 
Ashton,  Wiltshire,  a  lady  of  considerable  fortune  and 
attractions  and  of  excellent  connections,  but  of  such 
exceedingly  rigid  piety  of  the  Calvinistic  type  of  the 
period,  that  I  believe  my  uncle  was  soon  fairly  afraid 


CHILDHOOD.  41 

of  his   promised  bride.      At  all   events  his   procrasti- 
nations began  afresh.     He  remained  at  Templeton  on 
one  excuse  after  another,  till  Miss  Long  wrote  to  ask  : 
"  Whether  he  wished  to  keep  their  engagement  ?  "     My 
poor  uncle  was  nearly  driven  now  to  the  wall,  but  his 
health  was  bad  and  might  prove  his  apology  for  fresh 
delays.     Before  replying  to  his  Flora,  he  went  to  Dub- 
lin and  consulted  Sir  Philip  Crampton.     After  detail- 
ing his  ailments,  he  asked  what  he  ought  to  do,  hoping 
( I  am  afraid  )  that  the  great  surgeon  would  say,  "  Oh, 
you  must  keep  quiet !  "     Instead  of  this  verdict  Cramp- 
ton  said,  "  Go  and  get  married  by  all  means ! "     No 
further  excuse  was  possible,  and  my  poor  uncle  wrote 
to  say  he  was  on  his  way  to  claim  his  bride.     Ere  he 
reached  her,  however,  while  stopping  at  his  mother's 
house  in  Bath,  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  on  the 
morning  on  which  he  should  have  gone  to  Rood  Ash- 
ton.     He  must  have  expired  suddenly  while  reading  a 
good  little  book.     All  this  happened  somewhere  about 
1823. 

To  return  to  our  old  life  at  Newbridge,  about  1833 
and  for  many  years  afterwards,  the  assembling  of  my 
father's  brothers,  and  brothers'  wives  and  children  at 
Christmas  was  the  great  event  of  the  year  in  my  almost 
solitary  childhood.  Often  a  party  of  twenty  or  more 
sat  down  every  day  for  three  or  four  weeks  together  in 
the  dining-room,  and  we  younger  ones  naturally  spent 
the  short  days  and  long  evenings  in  boyish  and  girlish 
sports  and  play.  Certain  very  noisy  and  romping 
games  —  Blindman's  buff,  Prisoner's  Bass,  Giant,  and 
Puss  in  the  Corner  and  Hunt  the  Hare  —  as  we  played 
them  through  the  halls  below  stairs,  and  the  long  cor- 
ridors and  rooms  above,  still  appear  to  me  as  among  the 
most  delightful  things  in  a  world  which  was  then  all 
delight.  As  we  grew  a  little  older  and  my  dear,  clever 
brother  Tom  came  home  from  Oxford  and  Germany, 
charades  and  plays  and  masquerading  and  dancing  came 


42  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

into  fashion.  In  short  ours  was,  for  the  time,  like 
other  large  country-houses,  full  of  happy  young  people, 
with  the  high  spirits  common  in  those  old  days.  The 
rest  of  the  year,  except  during  the  summer  vacation, 
when  brothers  and  cousins  mustered  again,  the  place 
was  singularly  quiet,  and  my  life  strangely  solitary  for 
a  child.  Very  early  I  made  a  concordat  with  each  of 
my  four  successive  governesses,  that  when  lessons  were 
ended,  precisely  at  twelve,  I  was  free  to  wander  where 
I  pleased  about  the  park  and  woods,  to  row  the  boat  on 
the  pond  or  ride  my  pony  on  the  sands  of  the  seashore 
two  miles  from  the  house.  I  was  not  to  be  expected  to 
have  any  concern  with  my  instructress  outside  the  doors. 
The  arrangement  suited  them,  of  course,  perfectly ;  and 
my  childhood  was  thus  mainly  a  lonely  one.  I  was  so 
uniformly  happy  that  I  was  (  what  I  suppose  few  chil- 
dren are  )  quite  conscious  of  my  own  happiness.  I  re- 
member often  thinking  whether  other  children  were  all 
as  happy  as  I,  and  sometimes,  especially  on  a  spring 
morning  of  the  18th  March,  —  my  mother's  birthday, 
when  I  had  a  holiday,  and  used  to  make  coronets  of 
primroses  and  violets  for  her,  —  I  can  recall  walking 
along  the  grass  walks  of  that  beautiful  old  garden  and 
feeling  as  if  everything  in  the  world  was  perfect,  and 
my  life  complete  bliss  for  which  I  could  never  thank 
God  enough. 

When  the  weather  was  too  bad  to  spend  my  leisure 
hours  out  of  doors  I  plunged  into  the  library  at  hap- 
hazard, often  making  "  discovery  "  of  books  of  which  I 
had  never  been  told,  but  which,  thus  found  for  myself, 
were  doubly  precious.  Never  shall  I  forget  thus  fall- 
ing by  chance  on  "  Kubla  Khan  "  in  its  first  pamphlet 
shape.  I  also  gloated  over  Southey's  "  Curse  of  Kehama," 
and  "  The  Cid  "  and  Scott's  earlier  works.  My  mother 
did  very  wisely,  I  think,  to  allow  me  thus  to  rove  over  the 
shelves  at  my  own  will.  By  degrees  a  genuine  appetite 
for  reading  awoke  in  me,  and  I  became  a  studious  girl, 


CHILDHOOD.  43 

as  I  shall  presently  describe.  Beside  the  library,  how- 
ever, I  had  a  playhouse  of  my  own  for  wet  days. 
There  were,  at  that  time,  two  garrets  only  in  the  house 
( the  bedrooms  having  all  lofty  coved  ceilings ),  and 
these  two  garrets,  over  the  lobbies,  were  altogether  dis- 
used. I  took  possession  of  them,  and  kept  the  keys 
lest  anybody  should  pry  into  them,  and  truly  they  must 
have  been  a  remarkable  sight !  On  the  sloping  roofs  I 
pinned  the  eyes  of  my  peacock's  feathers  in  the  relative 
positions  of  the  stars  of  the  chief  constellations  ;  one 
of  my  hobbies  being  Astronomy.  On  another  wall  I 
fastened  a  rack  full  of  carpenter's  tools,  which  I  could 
use  pretty  deftly  on  the  bench  beneath.  The  principal 
wall  was  an  armory  of  old  court  swords,  and  home- 
made pikes,  decorated  with  green  and  white  flags  (I 
was  an  Irish  patriot  at  that  epoch),  sundry  javelins, 
bows  and  arrows,  and  a  magnificently  painted  shield 
with  the  family  arms.  On  the  floor  of  one  room  was  a 
collection  of  shells  from  the  neighboring  shore,  and 
lastly  there  was  a  table  with  pens,  ink  and  paper ;  im- 
plements wherewith  I  perpetrated,  inter  alia,  several 
poems  of  which  I  can  just  recall  one.  The  motif  of 
the  story  was  obviously  borrowed  from  a  stanza  in 
Moore's  Irish  Melodies.  Even  now  I  do  not  think  the 
verses  very  bad  for  twelve  or  thirteen  years  old. 

THE  FISHERMAN  OF  LOUGH  NEAGH. 

The  autumn  wind  was  roaring  high 

And  the  tempest  raved  in  the  midnight  sky, 

When  the  fisherman's  father  sank  to  rest 

And  left  O'Nial  the  last  and  best 

Of  a  race  of  kings  who  once  held  sway 

From  far  Fingal  to  dark  Lough  Neagh.1 

The  morning  shone  and  the  fisherman's  bark 

Was  wafted  o'er  those  waters  dark. 

And  he  thought  as  he  sailed  of  his  father's  name 

Of  the  kings  of  Erin's  ancient  fame, 

Of  days  when  'neath  those  waters  green 

1  Pronounced  "Loch  Nay." 


44  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

The  banners  of  Nial  were  ever  seen, 

And  where  the  Knights  of  the  Blood-Ked-Tree 

Had  held  of  old  their  revelry  ; 

And  where  O'Nial's  race  alone 

Had  sat  upon  the  regal  throne. 

While  the  fisherman  thought  of  the  days  of  old 

The  sun  had  left  the  western  sky 

And  the  moon  had  risen  a  lamp  of  gold, 

Ere  O'Nial  deemed  that  the  eve  was  nigh. 

He  turned  his  boat  to  the  mountain  side 

And  it  darted  away  o'er  the  rippling  tide  ; 

Like  arrow  from  an  Indian  bow 

Shot  o'er  the  waves  the  glancing  prow. 

The  fisherman  saw  not  the  point  beneath 

Which  beckoned  him  on  to  instant  death. 

It  struck  — yet  he  shrieked  not,  although  his  blood 

Kan  chill  at  the  thought  of  that  fatal  flood  ; 

Aud  the  voice  of  O'Nial  was  silent  that  day 

As  he  sank  'neath  the  waters  of  dark  Lough  Neagh; 

Like  when  Adam  rose  from  the  dust  of  earth 
And  felt  the  joy  of  his  glorious  birth, 
And  where'er  he  gazed,  and  where'er  he  trod, 
He  felt  the  presence  and  smile  of  God, — 
Like  the  breath  of  morning  to  him  who  long 
Has  ceased  to  hear  the  warblers'  song, 
And  who,  in  the  chamber  of  death  hath  lain 
With  a  sickening  heart  and  a  burning  brain ; 
So  rushed  the  joy  through  O'Nial's  mind 
When  the  waters  dark  above  him  joined, 
And  he  felt  that  Heaven  had  made  him  be 
A  spirit  of  light  and  eternity. 

He  gazed  around,  but  his  dazzled  sight 
Saw  not  the  spot  from  whence  he  fell, 
For  beside  him  rose  a  spire  so  bright 
No  mortal  tongue  could  its  splendors  tell 
Nor  human  eye  endure  its  light. 

And  he  looked  and  saw  that  pillars  of  gold 

The  crystal  column  did  proudly  hold  ; 

And  he  turned  and  walked  in  the  light  blue  sea 

Upon  a  silver  balcony, 

Which  rolled  around  the  spire  of  light 

And  laid  on  the  golden  pillars  bright. 


CHILDHOOD.  45 

Descending  from  the  pillars  high, 
He  passed  through  portals  of  ivory 
E'en  to  the  hall  of  living  gold, 
The  palace  of  the  kings  of  old. 
The  harp  of  Erin  sounded  high 
And  the  crotal  joined  the  melody, 
And  the  voice  of  happy  spirits  round 
Prolonged  and  harmonized  the  sound. 
"All  hail,  O'Nial  !"  — 

and  so  on,  and  so  on  !  I  wrote  a  great  deal  of  this  sort 
of  thing  then  and  for  a  few  years  afterwards ;  and  of 
course,  like  every  one  else  who  has  ever  been  given  to 
waste  paper  and  ink,  I  tried  my  hand  on  a  tragedy.  I 
had  no  real  power  or  originality,  only  a  little  Fancy 
perhaps,  and  a  dangerous  facility  for  flowing  versifica- 
tion. After  a  time  my  early  ambition  to  become  a 
Poet  died  out  under  the  terrible  hard  mental  strain 
and  very  serious  study  through  which  I  passed  in  seek- 
ing religious  faith.  But  I  have  always  passionately 
loved  poetry  of  a  certain  kind,  specially  that  of  Shel- 
ley ;  and  perhaps  some  of  my  prose  writings  have  been 
the  better  for  my  early  efforts  to  cultivate  harmony  and 
for  my  delight  in  good  similes.  This  last  propensity  is 
even  now  very  strong  in  me,  and  whenever  I  write  con 
amove,  comparisons  and  metaphors  come  tumbling  out 
of  my  head,  till  my  difficulty  is  to  exclude  mixed  ones  ! 
My  education  at  this  time  was  of  a  simple  kind. 
After  Miss  Kinnear  left  us  to  marry,  I  had  another 
nursery  governess,  a  good  creature  properly  entitled 
"  Miss  Daly,"  but  called  by  my  profane  brothers,  "  the 
Daily  Nuisance."  After  her  came  a  real  governess,  the 
daughter  of  a  bankrupt  Liverpool  merchant  who  made 
my  life  a  burden  with  her  strict  discipline  and  her 
" I-have-seen-better-days "  airs;  and  whom,  at  last,  I 
detected  in  a  trick  which  to  me  appeared  one  of  unpar- 
alleled turpitude  !  She  had  asked  me  to  let  her  read 
something  which  I  had  written  in  a  copy-book  and  I 
had  peremptorily  declined  to  obey  her  request,  and  had 


46  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

locked  up  my  papers  in  my  beloved  little  writing-desk 
which  my  clear  brother  Tom  had  bought  for  me  out  of 
his  school-boy's  pocket  money.  The  keys  of  this  desk 
I  kept  with  other  things  in  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
pockets  which  everybody  then  wore,  and  which  formed 
a  separate  article  of  under  clothing.  This  pocket  my 
maid  naturally  placed  at  night  on  the  chair  beside  my 
little  bed,  and  the  curtains  of  the  bed  being  drawn, 
Miss  W.  no  doubt  after  a  time  concluded  I  was  asleep 
and  cautiously  approached  the  chair  on  tiptoe.  As  it 
happened  I  was  wide  awake,  having  at  that  time  the 
habit  of  repeating  certain  hymns  and  other  religious 
things  to  myself  before  I  went  to  sleep  ;  and  when  I  per- 
ceived through  the  white  curtain  the  shadow  of  my  gov- 
erness close  outside,  and  then  heard  the  slight  jingle 
made  by  my  keys  as  she  abstracted  them  from  my 
pocket,  I  felt  as  if  I  were  witness  of  a  crime  !  Any- 
thing so  base  I  had  never  dreamed  as  existing  outside 
story  books  of  wicked  children.  Drawing  the  curtain  I 
could  see  that  Miss  W.  had  gone  with  her  candle  into 
the  inner  room  (one  of  the  old  "  powdering  closets  " 
attached  to  all  the  rooms  in  Newbridge)  and  was  busy 
with  the  desk  which  lay  on  the  table  therein.  Very 
shortly  I  heard  the  desk  close  again  with  an  angry 
click,  —  and  no  wonder  !  Poor  Miss  W.,  who  no  doubt 
fancied  she  was  going  to  detect  her  strange  pupil  in 
some  particular  naughtiness,  found  the  MS.  in  the  desk, 
to  consist  of  solemn  religious  "  Reflections,"  in  the  style 
of  Mrs.  Trimmer ;  and  of  a  poetical  description  (in  round 
hand)  of  the  Last  Judgment !  My  governess  replaced 
the  bunch  of  keys  in  my  pocket  and  noiselessly  with- 
drew, but  it  was  long  before  I  could  sleep  for  sheer 
horror;  and  next  day  I,  of  course,  confided  to  my 
mother  the  terrible  incident.  Nothing,  I  think,  was 
said  to  Miss  W.  about  it,  but  she  was  very  shortly 
afterwards  allowed  to  return  to  her  beloved  Liverpool, 
where,  for  all  I  know,  she  may  be  living  still. 


CHILDHOOD.  47 

My  fourth  and  last  governess  was  a  remarkable  wo- 
man, a  Mdlle.    Montriou,  a  person  of  considerable  force 
of  character,  and  in  many  respects  an  admirable  teacher. 
With  her  I  read  a  good  deal  of  solid  History,  beginning 
with  Rollin  and   going   on  to  Plutarch   and  Gibbon ; 
also  some  modern  historians.     She  further  taught  me 
systematically  a  scheme  of  chronology  and  royal  suc- 
cessions, till  I  had  an  amount  of  knowledge  of  such 
things  which  I  afterwards  found  was  not  shared  by  any 
of  my  schoolfellows.     She  had  the  excellent  sense  also 
to  allow  me  to  use  a  considerable  part  of  my  lesson 
hours  with  a  map-book  before  me,  asking  her  endless 
questions   on   all   things    connected   with   the    various 
countries ;  and  as  she  was  extremely  well  and  widely 
informed,  this  was  almost  the  best  part  of  my  instruc- 
tion.    I  became  really  interested  in  these  studies,  and 
also  in  the  great  poets,  French  and  English,  to  whom 
she  introduced  me.     Of  course  my  governess  taught  me 
music,  including  what  was  then  called  Thorough  Bass, 
and  now  Harmony  ;  but  very  little  of  the  practical  part 
of   performance  could   I   learn   then   or   at   any  time. 
Independently  of  her,  I  read  every  book  on  Astronomy 
which  I  could  lay  hold  of,   and   I  well  remember  the 
excitement   wherewith    I   waited    for    years    for    the 
appearance  of  the  comet  of  1835,  which  one  of  these 
books  had  foretold.     At  last  a  report  reached  me  that 
the  village  tailor  had  seen  the  comet  the  previous  night. 
Of  course  I  scanned  the  sky  with  renewed  ardor,  and 
thought  I  had  discovered  the  desired  object  in  a  misty- 
looking  star  of  which  my  planisphere  gave  no  notice. 
My  father  however  pooh-poohed  this  bold  hypothesis, 
and  I  was  fain  to  wait  till  the  next  night.     Then,  as 
soon  as  it  was  dark,  I  ran  up  to  a  window  whence  I 
could  command  the  constellation  wherein  the  comet  was 
bound  to  show  itself.     A  small  hazy  star  —  and  a  long 
train  of  light  from  it  —  greeted  my   enchanted   eyes! 
My  limbs  could  hardly  bear  me  as  I  tore  downstairs 


48  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

into  the  drawing-room,  nor  my  voice  publish  the  trium- 
phant intelligence,  "  It  is  the  comet ! "  "  It  has  a  tail ! " 
Everybody  (in  far  too  leisurely  a  way,  as  I  considered) 
went  up  and  saw  it,  and  confessed  that  the  comet  it 
certainly  must  be,  with  that  appendage  of  the  bail ! 
Few  events  in  my  long  life  have  caused  me  such 
delightful  excitement.     This  was  in  1835. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SCHOOL    AND    AFTER. 

When  my  father,  in  1836,  had  decided,  by  my 
governess's  advice,  to  send  me  to  school,  my  dear 
mother,  though  already  old  and  feeble,  made  the 
journey,  long  as  it  was  in  those  days,  from  Ireland  to 
Brighton  to  see  for  herself  where  I  was  to  be  placed, 
and  to  invoke  the  kindness  of  my  school-mistresses  for 
me.  We  sailed  to  Bristol  —  a  thirty  hours'  passage 
usually,  but  sometimes  longer,  —  and  then  travelled  by 
postchaises  to  Brighton,  taking,  I  think,  three  days  on 
the  road  and  visiting  Stonehenge  by  the  way,  to  my 
mother's  great  delight.  My  eldest  brother,  then  at 
Oxford,  attended  her  and  acted  as  courier.  When  we 
came  in  sight  of  Brighton  the  lamps  were  lighted  along 
the  long  perspective  of  the  shore.  Gas  was  still 
sufficiently  a  novelty  to  cause  this  sight  to  be  im- 
mensely impressive  to  us  all. 

Next  day  my  mother  took  me  to  my  future  tyrants, 
and  fondly  bargained  ( as  she  was  paying  enormously  ) 
that  I  should  have  sundry  indulgences,  and  principally 
a  bedroom  to  myself.  A  room  was  shown  to  her  with 
only  one  small  bed  in  it,  and  this  she  was  told  would 
be  mine.  When  I  went  to  it  next  night,  heart  broken 
after  her  departure,  I  found  that  another  bed  had  been 
put  up,  and  a  schoolfellow  was  already  asleep  in  it. 
I  flung  myself  down  on  my  knees  by  my  own  and  cried 
my  heart  out,  and  was  accordingly  reprimanded  next 
morning  before  the  whole  school  for  having  been  seen 
to  cry  at  my  prayers.1 

1  Part  of  the  following  description  of  my  own  and  my  mother's  school 
appeared  some  years  ago  in  a  periodical,  now,  I  believe,  extinct. 


50  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

The  education  of  women  was  probably  at  its  lowest 
ebb  about  half-a-century  ago.  It  was  at  that  period 
more  pretentious  than  it  had  ever  been  before,  and 
infinitely  more  costly  than  it  is  now ;  and  it  was  like- 
wise more  shallow  and  senseless  than  can  easily  be 
believed.  To  inspire  young  women  with  due  gratitude 
for  their  present  privileges,  won  for  them  by  my  con- 
temporaries, I  can  think  of  nothing  better  than  to 
acquaint  them  with  some  of  the  features  of  school-life 
in  England  in  the  days  of  their  mothers.  I  say 
advisedly  the  days  of  their  mothers,  for  in  those  of 
their  grandmothers,  things  were  by  no  means  equally 
bad.  There  was  much  less  pretence  and  more  genuine 
instruction,  so  far  as  it  extended. 

For  a  moment  let  us,  however,  go  back  to  these 
earlier  grandmothers'  schools,  say  those  of  the  year 
1790  or  thereabouts.  From  the  reports  of  my  own 
mother,  and  of  a  friend  whose  mother  was  educated  in 
the  same  place,  I  can  accurately  describe  a  school 
which  flourished  at  that  date  in  the  fashionable  region 
J  of  Queen  Square,  Bloomsbury.  The  mistress  was  a 
certain  Mrs.  Devis,  who  must  have  been  a  woman  of 
ability  for  she  published  a  very  good  little  English 
Grammar  for  the  express  use  of  her  pupils ;  also  a 
Geography,  and  a  capital  book  of  maps,  which  possessed 
the  inestimable  advantage  of  recording  only  those 
towns,  cities,  rivers,  and  mountains  which  were  men- 
tioned in  the  Geography,  and  not  confusing  the  mind 
( as  maps  are  too  apt  to  do )  with  extraneous  and 
superfluous  towns  and  hills.  I  speak  with  personal 
gratitude  of  those  venerable  books,  for  out  of  them 
chiefly  I  obtained  such  inklings  of  Geography  as  have 
siifficed  generally  for  my  wants  through  life ;  the  only 
disadvantage  they  entailed  being  a  firm  impression, 
still  rooted  in  my  mind,  that  there  is  a  "  Kingdom  of 
Poland  "  somewhere  about  the  middle  of  Europe. 

Beside   Grammar   and   Geography   and  a  very  fair 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  51 

share  of  history  (  "  Ancient "  derived  from  Eollin,  and 
"  Sacred "  from  Mrs.  Trimmer ),  the  young  ladies  at 
Mrs.  Devis'  school  learned  to  speak  and  read  French 
with  a  very  good  accent,  and  to  play  the  harpsichord 
with  taste,  if  not  with  a  very  learned  appreciation  of 
"  severe  "  music.  The  "  Battle  of  Prague  "  and  Hook's 
Sonatas  were,  I  believe,  their  culminating  achievements. 
But  it  was  not  considered  in  those  times  that  packing 
the  brains  of  girls  with  facts,  or  even  teaching  their 
fingers  to  run  over  the  keys  of  instruments,  or  to 
handle  pen  and  pencil,  was  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of 
education.  William  of  Wykeham's  motto,  "  Manners 
makyth  Manne,"  was  understood  to  hold  good  emphati- 
cally concerning  the  making  of  Woman.  The  abrupt 
speaking,  courtesy-neglecting,  slouching,  slangy  young 
damsel  who  may  now  perhaps  carry  off  the  glories  of  a 
University  degree,  would  have  seemed  to  Mrs.  Devis 
still  needing  to  be  taught  the  very  rudiments  of 
feminine  knowledge.  "  Decorum  "  (  delightful  word ! 
the  very  sound  of  which  brings  back  the  smell  of 
Marechale  powder  )  was  the  imperative  law  of  a  lady's 
inner  life  as  well  as  of  her  outward  habits ;  and  in 
Queen  Square  nothing  that  was  not  decorous  was  for  a 
moment  admitted.  Every  movement  of  the  body  in 
entering  and  quitting  a  room,  in  taking  a  seat  and  ris- 
ing from  it,  was  duly  criticised.  There  was  kept,  in 
the  back  premises,  a  carriage  taken  off  the  wheels, 
and  propped  up  en  permanence,  for  the  purpose  of 
enabling  the  young  ladies  to  practise  ascending  and 
descending  with  calmness  and  grace,  and  without  any 
unnecessary  display  of  their  ankles.  Every  girl  was 
dressed  in  the  full  fashion  of  the  day.  My  mother, 
like  all  her  companions,  wore  hair-powder  and  rouge  on 
her  cheeks  when  she  entered  the  school  a  blooming  girl 
of  fifteen ;  that  excellent  rouge  at  five  guineas  a  pot, 
which  (  as  she  explained  to  me  in  later  years  )  did  not 
spoil   the   complexion   like   ordinary   compounds,    and 


52  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

which  I  can  witness  really  left  a  beautiful  clear  skin 
when  disused  thirty  years  afterwards. 

Beyond  these  matters  of  fashion,  however,  —  so  droll 
now  to  remember,  —  there  must  have  been  at  Mrs. 
Devis'  seminary  a  great  deal  of  careful  training  in 
what  may  be  called  the  great  Art  of  Society :  the  art 
of  properly  paying  and  receiving  visits,  of  saluting 
acquaintances  in  the  street  and  drawing-room,  and  of 
writing  letters  of  compliment.  When  I  recall  the 
type  of  perfect  woniahly  gentleness  and  high  breeding 
which  then  and  there  was  formed,  it  seems  to  me  as  if,  in 
comparison,  modern  manners  are  all  rough  and  brusque. 
We  have  graceful  women  in  abundance  still,  but  the 
peculiar  old-fashioned  suavity,  the  tact  which  made 
everybody  in  a  company  happy  and  at  ease,  —  most  of 
all  the  humblest  individual  present,  — and  which  at  the 
same  time  effectually  prevented  the  most  audacious 
from  transgressing  les  Henseances  by  a  hair;  of  that 
suavity  and  tact  we  seem  to  have  lost  the  tradition. 

The  great  Bloomsbury  school,  however,  passed  away 
at  length,  good  Mrs.  Devis  having  departed  to  the  land 
where  I  trust  the  Bivers  of  Baradise  formed  part  of  her 
new  study  of  Geography.  Xearly  half  a  century  later, 
when  it  came  to  my  turn  to  receive  edcation,  it  was 
not  in  London  but  in  Brighton  that  the  ladies'  schools 
most  in  estimation  were  to  be  found.  There  were  even 
then  (  about  1836  )  not  less  than  a  hundred  such  estab- 
lishments in  the  town,  but  that  at  3STo.  32.  Brunswick 
Terrace,  of  which  Miss  Bunciman  and  Miss  Boberts 
were  mistresses,  and  which  had  been  founded  some 
time  before  by  a  celebrated  Miss  Boggi,  was  supposed 
to  be  nee  jrfuribus  bnpar.  It  was,  at  all  events,  the 
most  outrageously  expensive,  the  nominal  tariff  of 
£120  or  £130  per  annum  representing  scarcely  a  fourth 
of  the  charges  for  "  extras  "  which  actually  appeared  in 
the  bills  of  many  of  the  pupils.  My  own,  I  know, 
amounted  to  £1,000  for  two  years'  schooling. 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  53 

I  shall  write  of  this  school  quite  frankly,  since  the 
two  poor  ladies,  well-meaning  but  very  unwise,  to 
whom  it  belonged  have  been  dead  for  nearly  thirty 
years,  and  it  can  hurt  nobody  to  record  my  conviction 
that  a  better  system  than  theirs  could  scarcely  have 
been  devised  had  it  been  designed  to  attain  the 
maximum  of  cost  and  labor  and  the  minimum  of  solid 
results.  It  was  the  typical  Higher  Education  of  the 
period,  carried  out  to  the  extreme  of  expenditure  and 
high  pressure. 

Profane  persons  were  apt  to  describe  our  school  as  a 
Convent,  and  to  refer  to  the  back  door  of  our  garden, 
whence  we  issued  on  our  dismal  diurnal  walks,  as  the 
"postern."  If  we  in  any  degree  resembled  nuns, 
however,  it  was  assuredly  not  those  of  either  a  Con- 
templative or  Silent  Order.  The  din  of  our  large 
double  schoolrooms  was  something  frightful.  Sitting 
in  either  of  them,  four  pianos  might  be  heard  going 
at  once  in  rooms  above  and  around  us,  while  at  numer- 
ous tables  scattered  about  the  rooms  there  were  girls 
reading  aloud  to  the  governesses  and  reciting  lessons 
in  English,  French,  German,  and  Italian.  This  hid- 
eous clatter  continued  the  entire  day  till  we  went  to 
bed  at  night,  there  being  no  time  whatever  allowed 
for  recreation,  unless  the  dreary  hour  of  walking  with 
our  teachers  (when  we  recited  our  verbs),  could  so  be 
described  by  a  fantastic  imagination.  In  the  midst  of 
the  uproar  we  were  obliged  to  write  our  exercises,  to 
compose  our  themes,  and  to  commit  to  memory  whole 
pages  of  prose.  On  Saturday  afternoons,  instead  of 
play,  there  was  a  terrible  ordeal  generally  known  as 
the  "  Judgment  Day. "  The  two  schoolmistresses 
sat  side  by  side,  solemn  and  stern,  at  the  head  of  the 
long  table.  Behind  them  sat  all  the  governesses  as 
Assessors.  On  the  table  were  the  books  wherein  our 
evil  deeds  of  the  week  were  recorded ;  and  round  the 
room  against  the  wall,  seated  on  stools  of  penitential 


54  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

discomfort,  we  sat,  five-and-twenty  "  dainosels,"  any- 
thing but  "Blessed,  "  expecting  our  sentences  accord- 
ing to  our  ill-deserts.  It  must  be  explained  that  the 
fiendish  ingenuity  of  some  teacher  had  invented  for 
our  torment  a  system  of  imaginary  "  cards,"  which 
we  were  supposed  to  "  lose  "  (though  we  never  gained 
any)  whenever  we  had  not  finished  all  our  various  les- 
sons and  practisings  every  night  before  bedtime,  or 
whenever  we  had  been  given  the  mark  for  "  stooping," 
or  had  been  impertinent,  or  had  been  "  turned  "  in  our 
lessons,  or  had  been  marked  "  P  "  by  the  music  mas- 
ter, or  had  been  convicted  of  "  disorder  "  (e.  g.,  having 
our  long  shoe-strings  untied),  or,  lastly,  had  told  lies  ! 
Any  one  crime  in  this  heterogeneous  list  entailed  the 
same  penalty,  namely,  the  sentence,  "You  have  lost 
your  card,  Miss  So-and-So,  for  such  and  such  a  thing  ; " 
and  when  Saturday  came  round,  if  three  cards  had 
been  lost  in  the  week,  the  law  wreaked  its  justice  on 
the  unhappy  sinner's  head !  Her  confession  having 
been  wrung  from  her  at  the  awful  judgment-seat 
above  described,  and  the  books  having  been  consulted, 
she  was  solemnly  scolded  and  told  to  sit  in  the  corner 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening !  Anything  more  ridiculous 
than  the  scene  which  followed  can  hardly  be  conceived. 
I  have  seen  (after  a  week  in  which  a  sort  of  feminine 
barring-out  had  taken  place)  no  less  than  nine  young 
ladies  obliged  to  sit  for  hours  in  the  angles  of  the  three 
rooms,  like  naughty  babies,  with  their  faces  to  the 
wall ;  half  of  them  being  quite  of  marriageable  age 
and  all  dressed,  as  was  cle  rigueur  with  us  every  day, 
in  full  evening  attire  of  silk  or  muslin,  with  gloves 
and  kid  slippers.  Naturally,  Saturday  evenings,  in- 
stead of  affording  some  relief  to  the  incessant  over- 
strain of  the  week,  were  looked  upon  with  terror  as 
the  worst  time  of  all.  Those  who  escaped  the  fell 
destiny  of  the  corner  were  allowed,  if  they  chose  to 
write  to  their    parents,  but  our  letters  were    perforce 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  55 

committed  at  night  to  the  schoolmistress  to  seal,  and 
were  not,  as  may  be  imagined,  exactly  the  natural  out- 
pouring of  our  sentiments  as  regarded  those  ladies  and 
their  school. 

Our  household  was  a  large  one.  It  consisted  of  the 
two  schoolmistresses  and  joint  proprietors,  of  the  sister 
of  one  of  them  and  another  English  governess  ;  of  a 
French,  an  Italian,  and  a  German  lady  teacher  ;  of  a 
considerable  staff  of  respectable  servants ;  and  finally 
of  twenty-five  or  twenty-six  pupils,  varying  in  age  from 
nine  to  nineteen.  All  the  pupils  were  daughters  of 
men  of  some  standing,  mostly  country  gentlemen,  mem- 
bers of  Parliament,  and  offshoots  of  the  peerage. 
There  were  several  heiresses  amongst  us,  and  one  girl 
whom  we  all  liked  and  recognized  as  the  beauty  of  the 
school,  the  daughter  of  Horace  Smith,  author  of  "  Re- 
jected Addresses."  On  the  whole,  looking  back  after 
the  long  interval,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  young  crea- 
tures there  assembled  were  full  of  capabilities  for 
widely  extended  usefulness  and  influence.  Many  were 
decidedly  clever  and  nearly  all  were  well  disposed. 
There  was  very  little  malice  or  any  other  vicious  ideas 
or  feelings,  and  no  worldliness  at  all  amongst  us.  I 
make  this  last  remark  because  the  novel  of  "  Rose, 
Blanche,  and  Violet,"  by  the  late  Mr.  G.  H.  Lewes,  is 
evidently  intended  in  sundry  details  to  describe  this 
particular  school,  and  yet  most  falsely  represents  the 
girls  as  thinking  a  great  deal  of  each  other's  wealth  or 
comparative  poverty.  Nothing  was  further  from  the 
fact.  One  of  our  heiresses,  I  well  remember,  and 
another  damsel  of  high  degree,  the  granddaughter  of  a 
duke,  were  our  constant  butts  for  their  ignorance  and 
stupidity,  rather  than  the  objects  of  any  preferential 
flattery.  Of  vulgarity  of  feeling  of  the  kind  imagined 
by  Mr.  Lewes,  I  cannot  recall  a  trace. 

But   all   this    fine   human   material   was    deplorably 
wasted.     Nobody  dreamed  that  any  one  of  us  could  in 


56  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

later  life  be  more  or  less  than  an  "  Ornament  of 
Society."  That  a  pupil  in  that  school  should  ever 
become  an  artist,  or  authoress,  would  have  been  looked 
upon  by  Miss  Runciman  and  Miss  Roberts  as  a  deplor- 
able dereliction.  Not  that  which  was  good  in  itself  or 
useful  to  the  community,  or  even  that  which  would  be 
delightful  to  ourselves,  but  that  which  would  make  us 
admired  in  society,  was  the  raison  d'etre  of  each  re- 
quirement. Everything  was  taught  us  in  the  inverse 
ratio  of  its  true  importance.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
scale  were  Morals  and  Religion,  and  at  the  top  were 
Music  and  Dancing ;  miserably  poor  music,  too,  of  the 
Italian  school  then  in  vogue,  and  generally  performed 
in  a  showy  and  tasteless  manner  on  harp  or  piano.  I 
can  recall  an  amusing  instance  in  which  the  order  of 
precedence  above  described  was  naively  betrayed  by 
one  of  our  schoolmistresses  when  she  was  admonishing 
one  of  the  girls  who  had  been  detected  in  a  lie.  "  Don't 
you  know,  you  naughty  girl, "  said  Miss  R.  impres- 
sively, before  the  whole  school,  "  don't  you  know  we 
had  almost  rather  find  you  have  a  P — "  (the  mark  of 
Pretty  Well)  "  in  your  music,  than  tell  such  false- 
hoods ?  " 

It  mattered  nothing  whether  we  had  any  "  music  in 
our  souls "  or  any  voices  in  our  throats,  equally  we 
were  driven  through  the  dreary  course  of  practising 
daily  for  a  couple  of  hours  under  a  German  teacher, 
and  then  receiving  lessons  twice  or  three  times  a  week 
from  a  music  master  (G-riesbach  by  name)  and  a  sing- 
ing master.  Many  of  us,  myself  in  particular,  had 
in  addition  to  these,  a  harp  master,  a  Frenchman  named 
Labarre,  who  gave  us  lessons  at  a  guinea  apiece,  while 
we  could  only  play  with  one  hand  at  a  time.  Lastly 
there  were  a  few  young  ladies  who  took  instructions 
in  the  new  instruments,  the  concertina  and  the 
accordion ! 

The  waste  of  money  involved  in  all  this,  the  piles  of 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  57 

useless  music,  and  songs  never  to  be  sung,  for  which 
our  parents  had  to  pay,  and  the  loss  of  priceless  time 
for  ourselves,  were  truly  deplorable  ;  and  the  result  of 
course  in  many  cases  (as  in  my  own)  complete  failure. 
One  day  I  said  to  the  good  little  German  teacher,  who 
nourished  a  hopeless  attachment  for  Schiller's  Marquis 
Posa,  and  was  altogether  a  sympathetic  person,  "  My 
dear  Fraulein,  I  mean  to  practise  this  piece  of  Bee- 
thoven, till  I  conquer  it."  "My  dear,"  responded  the 
honest  Fraulein,  "you  do  practise  that  piece  for  seex 
hours  a  day,  and  you  do  live  till  you  are  seexty,  at  the 
end  you  will  not  play  it !  Yet  so  hopeless  a  pupil  was 
compelled  to  learn  for  years,  not  only  the  piano,  but 
the  harp  and  singing  ! 

Next  to  music  in  importance  in  our  curriculum  came 
dancing.  The  famous  old  Madame  Michaud  and  her 
husband  both  attended  us  constantly,  and  we  danced 
to  their  direction  in  our  large  play-room  (lucus  a  non 
lucendo),  till  we  had  learned  not  only  all  the  dances  in 
use  in  England  in  that  anti-polka  epoch,  but  almost 
every  national  dance  in  Europe,  the  Minuet,  the  Gavotte, 
the  Cachucha,  the  Bolero,  the  Mazurka,  and  the  Taran- 
tella. To  see  the  stout  old  lady  in  her  heavy  green 
velvet  dress,  with  furbelow  a  foot  deep  of  sable,  going 
through  the  latter  cheerful  performance  for  our  en- 
sample,  was  a  sight  not  to  be  forgotten.  Beside  the 
dancing  we  had  "  calisthenic  "  lessons  every  week  from 
a  "  Capitaine  "  Somebody,  who  put  us  through  manifold 
exercises  with  poles  and  dumbbells.  How  much  better 
a  few  good  country  scrambles  would  have  been  than  all 
these  calisthenics  it  is  needless  to  say,  but  our  dismal 
walks  were  confined  to  parading  the  esplanade  and 
neighboring  terraces.  Our  parties  never  exceeded  six, 
a  governess  being  one  of  the  number,  and  we  looked 
down  from  an  immeasurable  height  of  superiority  on  the 
processions  of  twenty  and  thirty  girls  belonging  to  other 
schools.    The  governess  who  accompanied  us  had  enough 


58  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

to  do  with  her  small  party,  for  it  was  her  duty  to  utilize 
these  brief  hours  of  bodily  exercise  by  hearing  us  repeat 
our  French,  Italian,  or  German  verbs,  according  to  her 
own  nationality. 

Next  to  Music  and  Dancing  and  Deportment  came 
Drawiug,  but  that  was  not  a  sufficiently  voyant  accom- 
plishment, and  no  great  attention  was  paid  to  it ;  the 
instruction  also  being  of  a  second-rate  kind,  except  that 
it  included  lessons  in  perspective  which  have  been  use- 
ful to  me  ever  since.  Then  followed  Modern  Languages. 
No  Greek  or  Latin  were  heard  of  at  the  school,  but 
French,  Italian,  and  German  were  chattered  all  day  long, 
our  tongues  being  only  set  at  liberty  at  six  o'clock  to 
speak  English.  Such  French,  such  Italian,  and  such 
German  as  we  actually  spoke  may  be  more  easily  im- 
agined than  described.  We  had  bad  "  Marks "  for 
speaking  wrong  languages,  e.  g.,  French  when  we  were 
bound  to  speak  Italian  or  German,  and  a  dreadful  mark 
for  bad  French,  which  was  transferred  from  one  to 
another  all  day  long,  and  was  a  fertile  source  of  tears 
and  quarrels,  involving  as  it  did  a  heavy  lesson  out  of 
Noel  et  Chapsal's  Grammar  on  the  last  holder  at  night. 
We  also  read  in  each  language  every  day  to  the  French, 
Italian,  and  German  ladies,  recited  lessons  to  them,  and 
wrote  exercises  for  the  respective  masters  who  attended 
every  week. 

One  of  these  foreign  masters,  by  the  way,  was  the 
patriot  Berchet:  a  sad,  grim-looking  man  of  whom  I 
am  afraid  we  rather  made  fun  ;  and  on  one  occasion^ 
when  he  had  gone  back  to  Italy,  a  compatriot,  who  we 
were  told  was  a  very  great  personage  indeed,  took  his 
classes  to  prevent  them  from  being  transferred  to  any 
other  of  the  Brighton  teachers  of  Italian.  If  my  mem- 
ory has  not  played  me  a  trick,  this  illustrioiis  substitute 
for  Berchet  was  Manzoni,  the  author  of  the  "  Promessi 
Sposi " :  a  distinguished-looking  middle-aged  man,  who 
won  all  our  hearts  by  pronouncing  everything  we  did 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  59 

admirable,  even,    I  think,  on  the    occasion  when  one 
young  lady  freely  translated  Tasso, — 
"Faraa  e  terre  acquistasse," 

into  French  as  follows  : — 

"  II  acquit  la  femme  et  la  terre  "  ! 

Naturally,  after  (a  very  long  way  after)  foreign  lan- 
guages came  the  study  of  English.  We  had  a  writing 
and  arithmetic  master  (whom  we  unanimously  abhorred 
and  despised,  though  one  and  all  of  us  grievously  needed 
his  instructions),  and  an  "  English  master,"  who  taught 
us  to  write  "  themes,"  and  to  whom  I,  for  one,  feel  that 
I  owe,  perhaps,  more  than  to  any  other  teacher  in  that 
school,  few  as  were  the  hours  which  we  were  permitted 
to  waste  on  so  insignificant  an  art  as  composition  in  our 
native  tongue ! 

Beyond  all  this,  our  English  studies  embraced  one 
long,  awful  lesson  each  week  to  be  repeated  to  the 
schoolmistress  herself  by  a  class,  in  History  one  week, 
in  Geography  the  week  following.  Our  first  class,  I 
remember,  had  once  to  commit  to  memory  —  Heaven 
alone  knows  how  —  no  less  than  thirteen  pages  of  Wood- 
houselee's  "  Universal  History  "  ! 

Lastly,  as  I  have  said,  in  point  of  importance,  came 
our  religious  instruction.  Our  well-meaning  school- 
mistresses thought  it  was  obligatory  on  them  to  teach  us 
something  of  the  kind,  but,  being  very  obviously  alto- 
gether worldly  women  themselves,  they  were  puzzled 
how  to  carry  out  their  intentions.  They  marched  us  to 
church  every  Sunday  when  it  did  not  rain,  and  they 
made  us  on  Sunday  mornings  repeat  the  Collect  and 
Catechism ;  but  beyond  these  exercises  of  body  and 
mind,  it  was  hard  for  them  to  see  what  to  do  for  our 
spiritual  welfare.  One  Ash  Wednesday,  I  remember, 
they  provided  us  with  a  dish  of  salt  fish,  and  when  this 
was  removed  to  make  room  for  the  roast  mutton,  they 
addressed  us  in  a    short    discourse,  setting  forth  the 


\ 


60  FRANCES  POWER    COB  BE. 

merits  of  fasting,  and  ending  by  the  remark  that  they 
left  us  free  to  take  meat  or  not  as  we  pleased,  but  that 
they  hoped  we  should  fast ;  "  it  would  be  good  for  our 

SOllls  AND    OUR  FIGURES  !  " 

Each  morning  we  were  bound  publicly  to  repeat  a 
text  out  of  certain  little  books,  called  "  Daily  Bread," 
left  in  our  bedrooms,  and  always  scanned  in  frantic 
haste  while  "  doing-up  "  our  hair  at  the  glass,  or  gabbled 
aloud  by  one  damsel  so  occupied  while  her  room-fellow 
(there  were  never  more  than  two  in  each  bed-chamber) 
was  splashing  about  behind  the  screen  in  her  bath. 
Down,  when  the  prayer-bell  rang,  both  were  obliged 
to  hurry  and  breathlessly  to  await  the  chance  of  being 
called  on  first  to  repeat  the  text  of  the  day,  the  penalty 
for  oblivion  being  the  loss  of  a  "  card."  Then  came  a 
chapter  of  the  Bible,  read  verse  by  verse  amongst  us, 
and  then  our  books  were  shut  and  a  solemn  question 
was  asked.    On  one  occasion  I  remember  it  was  :  "  What 

have  you  just  been  reading,  Miss  S ?  "    Miss  S 

(now  a  lady  of  high  rank  and  fashion,  whose  small  wits 
had  been  wool-gathering)  peeped  surreptitiously  into 
her  Bible  again,  and  then  responded  with  just  confidence, 
"The  First  Epistle,  Ma'am,  of  General  Peter." 

It  is  almost  needless  to  add,  in  concluding  these 
reminiscences,  that  the  heterogeneous  studies  pursued  in 
this  helter-skelter  fashion  were  of  the  smallest  possible 
utility  in  later  life ;  each  acquirement  being  of  the 
shallowest  and  most  imperfect  kind,  and  all  real  educa- 
v  tion  worthy  of  the  name  having  to  be  begun  on  our 
\  return- home,  after  we  had  been  nronounced  "finished." 
Meanwhile  the  strain  on  our  mental  powers  of  getting 
through  daily,  for  six  months  at  a  time,  this  mass  of 
ill-arranged  and  miscellaneous  lessons,  was  extremely 
great  and  trying. 

One  droll  reminiscence  must  not  be  forgotten.  The 
pupils  at  Miss  Bunciman's  and  Miss  Boberts'  were  all 
supposed  to   have   obtained  the  fullest  instruction  in 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  61 

Science  by  attending  a  course  of  Nine  Lectures  delivered 
by  a  gentleman  named  Walker,  in  a  public  room  in 
Brighton.  The  course  comprised  one  Lecture  on  Elec- 
tricity, another  on  Galvanism,  another  on  Optics,  others 
I  think,  on  Hydrostatics,  Mechanics,  and  Pneumatics, 
and  finally  three,  which  gave  me  infinite  satisfaction,  on 
Astronomy. 

If  true  education  be  the  instilling  into  the  mind,  not 
so  much  Knowledge,  as  the  desire  for  Knowledge,  mine 
at  school  certainly  proved  a  notable  failure.  I  was 
brought  home  (no  girl  could  travel  in  those  days  alone) 
from  Brighton  by  a  coach  called  the  Bed  Bover,  which 
performed,  as  a  species  of  miracle,  in  one  day  the  jour- 
ney to  Bristol,  from  whence  I  embarked  for  Ireland. 
My  convoy-brother  naturally  mounted  the  box,  and  left 
me  to  enjoy  the  interior  all  day  by  myself ;  and  the  re- 
flections of  those  solitary  hours  of  first  emancipation 
remain  with  me  as  lively  as  if  they  had  taken  place 
yesterday.  "  What  a  delightful  thing  it  is,"  so  ran  my 
thoughts,  "  to  have  done  with  study !  Now  I  may 
really  enjoy  myself!  I  know  as  much  as  any  girl  in 
our  school,  and  since  it  is  the  best  school  in  England,  I 
must  know  all  that  it  can  ever  be  necessary  for  a  lady 
to  know.  I  will  not  trouble  my  head  ever  again  with 
learning  anything;  but  read  novels  and  amuse  myself 
for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

This  noble  resolve  lasted,  I  fancy,  a  few  months, 
and  then  depth  below  depth  of  my  ignorance  revealed 
itself  very  unpleasantly  !  I  tried  to  supply  first  one 
deficiency  and  then  another  till,  after  a  year  or  two,  I 
began  to  educate  myself  in  earnest.  The  reader  need 
not  be  troubled  with  a  long  story.  I  spent  four  years 
in  the  study  of  History  —  constructing  while  I  did  so 
some  Tables  of  Boyal  Successions  on  a  plan  of  my 
own  which  enabled  me  to  see  at  a  glance  the  descent, 
succession,  and  date  of  each  reigning  sovereign  of  every 
country,  ancient  and  modern,  possessing  any  History  of 


62  FBANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

which  I  could  find  a  trace.  These  Tables  I  still  have 
by  me,  and  they  certainly  testify  to  considerable  indus- 
try. Then  the  parson  of  our  parish,  who  had  been  a 
tutor  in  Dublin  College,  came  up  three  times  a  week  for 
several  years,  and  taught  me  a  little  Greek  (enough  to 
read  the  Gospels  and  to  stumble  through  Plato's 
"  Krito  "),  and  rather  more  Geometry,  to  which  science  I 
took  an  immense  fancy,  and  in  which  he  carried  me  over 
Euclid  and  Conic  Sections,  and  through  two  most  de- 
lightful books  of  Archimedes'  spherics.  I  tried  Algebra, 
but  had  as  much  disinclination  for  that  form  of  mental 
labor  as  I  had  enjoyment  in  the  reasoning  required  by 
Geometry.  My  tutor  told  me  he  was  able  to  teach  me 
in  one  lesson  as  many  propositions  as  he  habitually 
taught  the  undergraduates  of  Dublin  College  in  two.  I 
have  ever  since  strongly  recommended  this  study  to 
women  as  specially  fitted  to  counteract  our  habits  of 
hasty  judgment  and  slovenly  statement,  and  to  impress 
upon  us  the  nature  of  real  demonstration. 

I  also  read  at  this  time,  by  myself,  as  many  of  the 
great  books  of  the  world  as  I  could  reach ;  making  it  a 
rule  always  (whether  bored  or  not)  to  go  on  to  the  end 
of  each,  and  also  following  generally  Gibbon's  advice, 
viz.,  to  rehearse  in  one's  mind  in  a  walk  before  begin- 
ning a  great  book  all  that  one  knows  of  the  subject, 
and  then,  having  finished  it,  to  take  another  walk,  and 
register  how  much  has  been  added  to  our  store  of  ideas. 
In  these  ways  I  read  all  the  "  Faery  Queen,"  all  Milton's 
poetry,  and  the  "  Divina  Commedia  "  and  "  Gerusalemme 
Liberata"  in  the  originals.  Also  (in  translations)  I 
read  through  the  Iliad,  Odyssey,  iEneid,  Pharsalia,  and 
all  or  nearly  all,  iEschylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  Ovid, 
Tacitus,  Xenophon,  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  etc.  There 
was  a  fairly  good  library  at  Newbridge,  and  I  could 
also  go  when  I  pleased  and  read  in  Archbishop  Marsh's 
old  library  in  Dublin,  where  there  were  splendid  old 
books,  though  none  I  think  more  recent  than  a  hundred 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  63 

and  fifty  years  before  my  time.  My  mother  possessed 
a  small  collection  of  classics  —  Dryden,  Pope,  Milton, 
Horace,  etc.,  which  she  gave  me,  and  I  bought  for  my- 
self such  other  books  as  I  needed  out  of  my  liberal  pin- 
money.  Happily,  I  had  at  that  time  a  really  good 
memory  for  literature,  being  able  to  carry  away  almost 
the  words  of  passages  which  much  interested  me  in 
prose  or  verse,  and  to  bring  them  into  use  when  re- 
quired, though  I  had,  oddly  enough,  at  the  same  period 
so  imperfect  a  recollection  of  persons  and  daily  events 
that,  being  very  anxious  to  do  justice  to  our  servants,  I 
was  obliged  to  keep  a  book  of  memoranda  of  the  char- 
acters and  circumstances  of  all  who  left  us,  that  I 
might  give  accurate  and  truthful  recommendations. 

By  degrees  these  discursive  studies  —  I  took  up  vari- 
ous hobbies  from  time  to  time  —  Astronomy,  Architec- 
ture, Heraldry,  and  many  others  —  centered  more  and 
more  on  the  answers  which  have  been  made  through 
the  ages  by  philosophers  and  prophets  to  the  great 
questions  of  the  human  soul.  I  read  such  translations 
as  were  accessible  in  those  pre-Miiller  days,  of  Eastern 
Sacred  books  :  Anquetil  du  Perron's  "  Zend  Avesta " 
(twice) ;  and  Sir  William  Jones'  "  Institutes  of  Menu ; " 
and  all  I  could  learn  about  the  Greek  and  Alexandrian 
philosophers  from  Diogenes  Laertius  and  the  old  trans- 
lators (Taylor,  of  Norwich,  and  others)  and  a  large 
Biographical  Dictionary  which  we  had  in  our  library. 
Having  always  a  passion  for  Synopses,  I  constructed, 
somewhere  about  1840,  a  Table,  big  enough  to  cover  a 
sheet  of  double  elephant  paper,  wherein  the  principal 
Greek  philosophers  were  ranged,  —  their  lives,  ethics, 
cosmogonies,  and  special  doctrines,  —  in  separate  col- 
umns. After  this  I  made  a  similar  Table  of  the  early 
Gnostics  and  other  heresiarchs,  with  the  aid  of  Mos- 
heirn,  Sozomen,  and  Eusebius., 

Does  the  reader  smile  to  find  these  studies  recorded 
as  the  principal  concern  of  the  life  of   a  young  lady 


x/ 


64  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

from  sixteen  to  twenty,  and  in  fact  to  thirty -five  years 
of  age  ?  It  was  even  so  !  They  were  (beside  Religion, 
of  which  I  shall  speak  elsewhere)  my  supreme  interest. 
As  I  have  said  in  the  beginning,  I  had  neither  cares  of 
love  nor  cares  of  money  to  occupy  my  mind  or  my  heart. 
My  parents  wished  me  to  go  a  little  into  society  when 
I  was  about  eighteen,  and  I  was,  for  the  moment, 
pleased  and  interested  in  the  few  balls  and  drawing- 
rooms  (in  Dublin)  to  which  my  father,  and  afterwards 
my  uncle,  General  George  Cobbe,  conducted  me.  But  I 
was  rather  bored  than  amused  by  my  dancing  partners, 
and  my  dear  mother,  already  in  declining  years  and 
completely  an  invalid,  could  never  accompany  me,  and 
I  pined  for  her  motherly  presence  and  guidance,  the 
loss  of  which  was  only  half  compensated  for  by  her 
comments  on  the  long  reports  of  all  I  had  seen  and 
y  said  and  done,  as  I  sat  on  her  bed,  on  my  return  home. 
By  degrees  also,  my  thoughts  came  to  be  so  gravely 
employed  by  efforts  to  find  my  way  to  religious  truth, 
that  the  whole  glamor  of  social  pleasures  disappeared 
and  became  a  weariness  ;  and  by  the  time  I  was  nine- 
teen I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  stay  at  home  and  only  to 
receive  our  own  guests,  and  attend  the  occasional  din- 
ners in  our  neighborhood.  With  some  regret  my  par- 
ents yielded  the  point,  and  except  for  a  visit  every  two 
or  three  years  to  London  for  a  few  weeks  of  sightseeing, 
and  one  or  two  trips  in  Ireland  to  houses  of  our  rela- 
tions, my  life,  for  a  long  time,  was  perfectly  secluded. 
I  have  found  some  verses  in  which  I  described  it. 

"  I  live !    I  live !  and  never  to  man 
More  joy  in  life  was  given, 
Or  power  to  make,  as  I  can  make, 
Of  this  bright  world  a  heaven. 

"My  mind  is  free;  my  limbs  are  clad 
With  strength  which  few  may  know, 
And  every  eye  smiles  lovingly ; 
On  earth  I  have  no  foe. 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  65 

"With  pure  and  peaceful  pleasures  blessed 
Speed  my  calm  and  studious  days, 
"While  the  noblest  works  of  mightiest  minds 
Lie  open  to  my  gaze." 

In  one  of  our  summer  excursions  I  remember  my 
father  and  one  of  my  brothers  and  I  lionized  Win- 
chester, and  came  upon  an  exquisite  chapel,  which  was 
at  that  time,  and  perhaps  still  is,  a  sort  of  sanctuary  of 
books,  in  the  midst  of  a  lovely,  silent  cloister.  To 
describe  the  longing  I  felt  then,  and  long  after,  to 
spend  all  my  life  studying  there  in  peace  and  undis- 
turbed, "hiving  learning  with  each  studious  year," 
would  be  impossible ! 

I  think  there  is  a  great,  and  it  must  be  said  lament- 
able, difference  between  the  genuine  passion  for  study 
such  as  many  men  and  women  in  my  time  and  before  it 
experienced,  and  the  hurried,  anxious  gobbling  up   of 
knowledge  which  has  been  introduced  by  competitive 
examinations,  and  the  eternal  necessity  for  getting  some- 
thing else  beside  knowledge  ;  something  to  be  represented 
by  M.  A.  or  B.  Sen.,  or,  perhaps,  by  £  s.  d. !     When  I 
was  young  there  were  no  honors,  no  rewards  of  any 
kind  for  a  woman's  learning  ;  and  as  there  were  no  ex- 
aminations, there  was  no  hurry  or  anxiety.     There  was 
only   healthy   thirst    for    knowledge    of    one   kind    or 
another,  and  of  one  kind  after  another.     When  I  came 
across  a  reference  to  a  matter  which  I  did  not  under- 
stand, it  was  not  then  necessary,  as  it  seems  to  be  to 
young  students  now,  to  hasten  over  it,  leaving  the  un- 
known name,  or  event,  or  doctrine,  like  an  enemy's  fort- 
ress on  the  road  of  an  advancing  army.     I  stopped  and 
sat  down  before  it,  perhaps  for  days  and  weeks,  but  I 
conquered  it  at  last,  and  then  went  on  my  way  strength- 
ened by  the  victory.     Recently,  I  have  actually  heard 
of  students  at  a  college  for  ladies  being  advised  by  their 
"coach"  to  skip  a  number  of  propositions  in  Euclid,  as  it 
was  certain  they  would  not  be  examined  in  them  !     One 


66  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

might  as  well  help  a  climber  by  taking  rungs  out  of  his 
ladder !  I  can  make  no  sort  of  pretensions  to  have  ac- 
quired, even  in  my  best  days,  anything  like  the  instruc- 
tion which  the  young  students  of  Girton  and  Newnham 
and  Lady  Margaret  Hall  are  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  ; 
and  much  I  envy  their  opportunities  for  obtaining  accu- 
rate scholarship.  But  I  know  not  whether  the  method 
they  follow  can,  on  the  whole,  convey  as  much  of  the 
pure  delight  in  learning  as  did  my  solitary  early  studies. 
When  the  summer  morning  sun  rose  over  the  trees  and 
shone  as  it  often  did  into  my  bedroom,  finding  me  still 
over  my  books  from  the  evening  before,  and  when  I 
then  sauntered  out  to  take  a  sleep  on  one  of  the  garden 
seats  in  the  shrubbery,  the  sense  of  having  learned 
something,  or  cleared  up  some  hitherto  doubted  point, 
or  added  a  store  of  fresh  ideas  to  my  mental  riches,  was 
one  of  purest  satisfaction. 

As  to  writing  as  well  as  reading,  I  had  very  early  a 
great  love  of  the  art  and  frequently  wrote  small  essays 
and  stories,  working  my  way  towards  something  of  good 
style.  Our  English  master  at  school  on  seeing  my  first 
exercise  (on  Roman  history,  I  think  it  was),  had  asked 
Miss  Runciman  whether  she  were  sure  I  had  written  it 
unaided,  and  observed  that  the  turn  of  the  sentences 
was  not  girl-like,  and  that  he  "  thought  I  should  grow 
up  to  be  a  fine  writer."  My  schoolmistress  laughed,  of 
course,  at  the  suggestion,  and  I  fancy  she  thought  less  of 
poor  Mr.  Turnbull  for  his  absurd  judgment.  But  as  men 
and  women  who  are  to  be  good  musicians  love  their 
pianos  and  violins  as  children,  so  I  early  began  to  love 
that  noble  instrument,  the  English  Language,  and  in  my 
small  way  to  study  how  to  play  upon  it.  At  one  time 
when  quite  young  I  wrote  several  imitations  of  the  style 
of  Gibbon  and  other  authors,  just  as  an  exercise. 
Eventually,  without  of  course  copying  anybody  in  par- 
ticular, I  fell  into  what  I  must  suppose  to  be  a  style  of 
my  own,  since  those  familiar  with  it  easily  detect  pas- 


SCHOOL  AND  AFTER.  67 

sages  of  my  writing  wherever  they  come  across  them. 
I  was  at  a  later  time  much  interested  in  seeing  many  of 
my  articles  translated  into  French  (chiefly  in  the  French 
Protestant  periodicals),  and  to  note  how  little  it  is  pos- 
sible to  render  the  real  feeling  of  such  words  as  those 
with  which  our  tongue  supplies  us  by  those  of  that 
language.  At  a  still  later  date,  when  I  edited  the 
"  Zoophile,"  I  was  perpetually  disappointed  by  the  fail- 
ures of  the  best  translators  I  could  engage,  to  render 
my  meaning.  Among  the  things  for  which  to  be  thank- 
ful in  life,  I  think  we  English  ought  to  assign  no  small 
place  to  our  inheritance  of  that  grand  legacy  of  our  fore- 
fathers, the  English  Language. 

While  these  studies  were  going  on,  from  the  time  I 
left  school  in  1838  till  I  left  Newbridge  in  1857,  it  may 
be  noted  that  I  had  the  not  inconsiderable  charge  of 
keeping  house  for  my  father.  My  mother  at  once  put 
the  whole  responsibility  of  the  matter  in  my  hands, 
refusing  even  to  be  told  beforehand  what  I  had  or- 
dered for  the  rather  formal  dinner  parties  of  those 
days,  and  I  accepted  the  task  with  pleasure,  both  be- 
cause I  could  thus  relieve  her,  and  also  because  then 
and  ever  since  I  have  really  liked  housekeeping.  I 
love  a  well  ordered  house  and  table,  rooms  pleasantly 
arranged  and  lighted,  and  decorated  with  flowers,  hos- 
pitable attentions  to  guests,  and  all  the  other  pleasant 
cares  of  the  mistress  of  a  family.  In  the  midst  of  my 
studies  I  always  went  every  morning  regularly  to  my 
housekeeper's  room  and  wrote  out  a  careful  menu  for 
the  upstairs  and  downstairs  meals.  I  visited  the 
larder  and  the  fine  old  kitchen  frequently,  and  paid  the 
servants'  wages  on  every  quarter  day  ;  and  once  a  year 
went  over  my  lists  of  everything  in  the  charge  of 
either  the  men  or  women  servants.  In  particular  I 
took  very  special  care  of  the  china,  which  happened  to 
be  magnificent ;  and  hereby  hangs  the  memory  of  a 
droll  incident  with  which  I  may  close  this  chapter. 


68  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

A  certain  dignified  old  lady,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  L.,  had 
paid  a  visit  to  Newbridge  with  her  daughters,  and  in 
return  she  invited  one  of  niy  brothers  and  myself  to 
spend  some  days  at  her  "  show  "  place  in  County  Wick- 
low.  While  there  I  talked  with  the  enthusiasm  of  my 
age  to  her  very  charming  young  daughters  of  the 
pleasures  of  study,  urging  them  strenuously  to  learn 
Greek  and  Mathematics.  Mrs.  L.,  overhearing  me, 
intervened  in  the  conversation,  and  said  somewhat 
tartly,  "  I  do  not  at  all  agree  with  you,  Miss  Cobbe ! 
I  think  the  duty  of  a  lady  is  to  attend  to  her  house,  and 
to  her  husband  and  children.  I  beg  you  will  not  incite 
my  girls  to  take  up  your  studies." 

Of  course  I  bowed  to  the  decree,  and  soon  after  began 
admiring  some  of  the  china  about  the  room.  "  There 
is,"  said  Mrs.  L.,  "  some  very  fine  old  china  belonging 
to  this  house.  There  is  one  dessert-service  which  is 
said  to  have  cost  £800  forty  or  fifty  years  ago. 
Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  " 

Having  gratefully  accepted  the  invitation,  I  followed 
my  hostess  to  the  basement  of  the  house,  and  there,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  recognized  that  condition  of 
disorder  and  slatternliness  which  I  had  heard  described 
as  characteristic  of  Irish  houses.  At  last  we  reached 
an  under-ground  china  closet,  and  after  some  delay  and 
reluctance  on  the  part  of  the  servant,  a  key  was  found 
and  the  door  opened.  There,  on  the  shelves  and  the 
floor,  lay  piled,  higgledy-piggledy,  dishes  and  plates  of 
exquisite  china  mixed  up  with  the  commonest  earthen- 
ware jugs,  basins,  cups,  and  willow-pattern  kitchen 
dishes  ;  and  the  great  dessert-service  among  the  rest  — 
with  the  dessert  of  the  previous  summer  rotting  on  the 
plates  !  Yes  !  there  was  no  mistake.  Some  of  the  superb 
plates  handed  to  me  by  the  servant  for  examination  by 
the  light  of  the  window,  had  on  them  peach  and  plum- 
stones  and  grape-stalks,  obviously  left  as  they  had  been 
taken  from  the  table  in  the  dining-room  many  months 


SCHOOL  DAYS  AND  AFTER.  69 

before  !  Poor  Mrs.  L.  muttered  some  expressions  of 
dismay  and  reproach  to  her  servants,  which  of  course 
I  did  not  seem  to  hear,  but  I  had  not  the  strength  of 
mind  to  resist  saying  :  "  Indeed  this  is  a  splendid  ser- 
vice ;  Style  de  V  Empire  I  should  call  it.  We  have 
nothing  like  it,  but  when  next  you  do  us  the  pleasure 
to  come  to  Newbridge,  I  shall  like  to  show  you  our 
Indian  and  Worcester  services.  Do  you  know,  I  always 
take  up  all  the  plates  and  dishes  myself  when  they  have 
been  washed  the  day  after  a  party,  and  put  them  on  their 
proper  shelves  with  my  own  hands, —  though  I  do  know 
a  little  Greek  and  Geometry,  Mrs.  L. ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RELIGION. 

I  do  not  think  that  any  one  not  being  a  fanatic,  can 
regret  having  been  brought  up  as  an  Evangelical 
Christian.  I  do  not  include  Calvinistic  Christianity  in 
this  remark,  for  it  must  surely  cloud  all  the  years  of 
mortal  life  to  have  received  the  first  impressions  of 
Time  and  Eternity  through  that  dreadful,  discolored 
glass  whereby  the  "  Sun  is  turned  into  darkness  and 
the  moon  into  blood."  I  speak  of  the  mild,  devout, 
philanthropic  Arminianism  of  the  Clapham  School, 
which  prevailed  amongst  pious  people  in  England  and 
Ireland  from  the  beginning  of  the  century  till  the  rise 
of  the  Oxford  movement,  and  of  which  William  Wilber- 
force  and  Lord  Shaftesbury  were  successively  representa- 
tives. To  this  school  my  parents  belonged.  The 
conversion  of  my  father's  grandmother  by  Lady  Hunt- 
ingdon, of  which  I  have  spoken,  had,  no  doubt,  directed 
his  attention  in  early  life  to  religion,  but  he  was 
himself  no  Methodist,  or  Quietist,  but  a  typical  Church- 
man as  Churchmen  were  in  the  first  half  of  the  century. 
All  our  relatives  far  and  near,  so  far  as  I  have  ever 
heard,  were  the  same.  We  had  five  archbishops  and  a 
bishop  among  our  near  kindred,  —  Cobbe,  Beresfords, 
and  Trenchs,  great-grandfather,  uncle,  and  cousins,  — 
and  (as  I  have  narrated)  my  father's  ablest  brother, 
my  godfather,  was  a  clergyman.  I  was  the  first  heretic 
ever  known  amongst  us. 

My  earliest  recollections  include  the  lessons  of  both 
my  father  and  mother  in  religion.      I  can  almost  feel 


RELIGION.  71 

myself  now  kneeling  at  my  dear  mother's  knees  repeat- 
ing the  Lord's  Prayer  after  her  clear,  sweet  voice.  Then 
came  learning  the  magnificent  Collects,  to  be  repeated 
to  my  father  on  Sunday  mornings  in  his  study ;  and 
later  the  church  catechism  and  a  great  many  hymns. 
Sunday  was  kept  exceedingly  strictly  at  Newbridge  in 
those  days  ;  and  no  books  were  allowed  except  religious 
ones,  nor  any  amusement,  save  a  walk  after  church. 
Thus  there  was  abundant  time  for  reading  the  Bible 
and  looking  over  the  pictures  in  various  large  editions, 
and  in  Calmet's  great  folio  Dictionary,  beside  listening 
to  the  sermon  in  church,  and  to  another  sermon  which 
my  father  read  in  the  evening  to  the  assembled  house- 
hold. Of  course,  every  day  of  the  week  there  were 
Morning  Prayers  in  the  library,  —  and  a  "  Short  Dis- 
course" from  good,  prosy  old  Jay,  of  Bath's  "Exer- 
cises." In  this  way,  altogether  I  received  a  good  deal 
of  direct  religious  instruction,  beside  very  frequent 
reference  to  God  and  Duty  and  Heaven,  in  the  ordinary 
talk  of  my  parents  with  their  children. 

What  was  the  result  of  this  training  ?  I  can  only 
suppose  that  my  nature  was  a  favorable  soil  for  such 
seed,  for  it  took  root  early  and  grew  apace.  I  cannot 
recall  any  time  when  I  could  not  have  been  described 
by  any  one  who  knew  my  little  heart  (I  was  very  shy 
about  it,  and  few,  if  any,  did  know  it)  —  as  a  very 
religious  child.  Religious  ideas  were  from  the  first 
intensely  interesting  and  exciting  to  me.  In  great 
measure  I  fancy  it  was  the  element  of  the  sublime  in 
them  which  moved  me  first,  just  as  I  was  moved  by  the 
thunder  and  the  storm,  and  was  wont  to  go  out  alone 
into  the  woods  or  into  the  long,  solitary  corridors  to 
enjoy  them  more  fully.  I  recollect  being  stirred  to 
rapture  by  a  little  poem  which  I  can  repeat  to  this  day, 
beginning  :  — 

Where  is  Thy  dwelling  place  ? 
Is  it  in  the  realms  of  space, 


72  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

By  angels  and  just  spirits  only  trod  ? 

Or  is  it  in  the  bright 

And  ever-burning  light 

Of  the  sun's  flaming  disk  that  Thou  art  throned,  0  God? 

One  of  the  stanzas  suggested  that  the  Divine  seat 
might  be  in  some  region  of  the  starry  universe  :  — 

"  Far  in  the  unmeasured,  unimagined  Heaven, 
So  distant  that  its  light 
Could  never  reach  our  sight 
Though  with  the  speed  of  thought  for  endless  ages  driven." 

Ideas  like  these  used  to  make  my  cheek  turn  pale  and 
lift  me  as  if  on  wings ;  and  naturally  Eeligion  was  the 
great  storehouse  of  them.  But  I  think,  even  in  child- 
hood, there  was  in  me  a  good  deal  beside  of  the  moral, 
if  not  yet  the  spiritual,  element  of  real  Religion.  Of 
course  the  great  beauty  and  glory  of  Evangelical  Chris- 
tianity, its  thorough  amalgamation  of  the  ideas  of  Duty 
and  Devotion  (elsewhere  often  so  lamentably  distinct), 
was  very  prominent  in  my  parents'  lessons.  God  was 
always  to  me  the  All-seeing  Judge.  His  eye  looking 
into  my  heart  and  beholding  all  its  naughtiness  and 
little  duplicities  (which  of  course  I  was  taught  to 
consider  serious  sins)  was  so  familiar  a  conception  that 
I  might  be  said  to  live  and  move  in  the  sense  of  it. 
Thus  my  life  in  childhood  morally  was  much  the 
same  as  it  is  physically  to  live  in  a  room  full  of 
sunlight.  Later  on,  the  evils  which  belong  to  this 
Evangelical  training,  the  excessive  self-introspection 
and  self-consciousness,  made  themselves  painfully  felt, 
but  in  early  years  there  was  nothing  that  was  not 
perfectly  wholesome  in  the  religion  which  I  had  so 
readily  assimilated. 

Further,  I  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  very  happy  child, 
even  conscious  of  my  own  happiness  ;  and  gratitude  to 
God  or  man  has  always  come  to  me  as  a  sentiment 
enhancing  my  enjoyment  of  the  good  for  which  I  have 
been  thankful.  Thus  I  was  —  not  conventionally 
merely  —  but  genuinely  and  spontaneously  grateful  to 


RELIGION.  73 

the  Giver  of  all  the  pleasures  which  were  poured  on  my 
head.  I  think  I  may  say,  that  I  loved  God,  when  I 
was  quite  a  young  child.  I  can  even  remember  being 
dimly  conscious  that  my  good  father  and  mother 
performed  their  religious  exercises  more  as  a  duty,  — 
whereas  to  me  such  things,  so  far  as  I  could  under- 
stand them,  were  real  pleasures  ;  like  being  taken  to  see 
somebody  I  loved.  I  have  since  recognized  that  both 
my  parents  were,  in  Evangelical  parlance,  "  under  the 
law;"  while  in  my  childish  heart  the  germ  of  the 
mysterious  New  Life  was  already  planted.  I  think  my 
mother  was  aware  of  something  of  the  kind  and  looked 
with  a  little  wonder,  blended  with  her  tenderness,  at 
my  violent  outbursts  of  penitence,  and  at  my  strange 
fancy  for  reading  the  most  serious  books  in  my  play- 
hours.  My  brothers  had  not  exhibited  any  such 
symptoms,  but  then  they  were  healthy  schoolboys, 
always  engaged  eagerly  in  their  natural  sports  and 
pursuits ;  while  I  was  a  lonely,  dreaming  girl. 

When  I  was  seven  years  old,  my  father  undertook  to 
read  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress "  to  my  brothers,  then 
aged  from  twelve  to  eighteen,  and  I  was  allowed  to  sifc 
in  the  room  and  provided  with  a  slate  and  sums.  The 
sums,  it  appeared,  were  never  worked,  while  my  eyes 
were  fixed  in  absorbed  interest  on  the  reader,  evening 
after  evening.  Once  or  twice  when  the  delightful  old 
copy  of  Bunyan  was  left  about  after  the  lesson,  my  slate 
was  covered  with  drawings  of  Apollyon  and  Great  Heart 
which  were  pronounced  "  wonderful  for  the  child."  By 
the  time  Christian  had  come  to  the  Dark  Kiver  all 
pretence  of  Arithmetic  was  abandoned,  and  I  was  per- 
mitted, proud  and  enchanted,  to  join  the  group  of  boys 
and  listen  with  my  whole  soul  to  the  marvellous  tale. 
When  the  reading  was  over  my  father  gave  the  volume 
(which  had  belonged  to  his  grandmother)  to  me,  for 
my  "very  own;"  and  I  read  it  over  and  over  con- 
tinually for  years,  till  the  idea  it  is  meant  to  convey  — 


74  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

Life  a  progress  to  Heaven  —  was  engraved  indelibly  on 
my  mind.  It  seems  to  me  that  few  of  those  who  have 
praised  Bunyan  most  loudly  have  recognized  that  he 
was  not  only  a  great  religious  genius,  but  a  born  poet, 
a  Puritan-Tinker-Shelley ;  possessed  of  what  is  almost 
the  highest  gift  of  poetry,  the  sense  of  the  analogy 
between  outward  nature  and  the  human  soul.  He  used 
allegory  instead  of  metaphor,  a  clumsier  vehicle  by  far, 
but  it  carried  the  same  exquisite  thoughts.  I  have  the 
dear  old  book  still,  and  it  is  one  of  my  treasures,  with 
its  ineffably  quaint  old  woodcuts  and  its  delicious 
marginal  notes ;  as,  for  example,  when  "  Giant  De- 
spair "  is  said  to  be  unable  one  day  to  maul  the  pilgrims 
in  his  dungeon,  because  he  had  fits.  "For  some- 
times," says  Bunyan,  "in  sunshiny  weather  Giant 
Despair  has  fits."  Could  any  one  believe  that  this  gem 
of  poetical  thought  and  deep  experience  is  noted  by  the 
words  in  the  margin,  "  His  Fits  !  "  ?  My  father  wrote 
on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  blessed  old  book  these  still  legible 
words :  — 

1830. 

"  This  book,  which  belonged  to  my  grandmother,  was 
given  as  a  present  to  my  dear  daughter  Fanny  upon 
witnessing  her  delight  in  reading  it.  May  she  keep  the 
Celestial  City  steadfastly  in  view ;  may  she  surmount 
the  dangers  and  trials  she  must  meet  with  on  the  road ; 
and,  finally,  be  reunited  with  those  she  loved  on  earth  in 
singing  praises  for  ever  and  ever  to  Him  who  loved 
them  and  gave  himself  for  them,  is  the  fervent  prayer 
of  her  affectionate  father, 

"  Charles  Cobbe." 

The  notion  of  "  getting  to  Heaven "  by  means  of  a 
faithful  pilgrimage  through  this  "  Vale  of  Tears  "  was 
the  prominent  feature  I  think,  always,  in  my  father's 
religion,  and  naturally  took  great  hold  on  me.  When 
the  day  came  whereon  I  began  to  doubt  whether  there 


BELIGION.  75 

were  any  Heaven  to  be  readied,  that  moral  earthquake, 
as  was  inevitable,  shook  not  only  my  religion  but  my 
morality  to  their  foundations  ;  and  my  experience  of  the 
perils  of  those  years  has  made  me  ever  since  anxious  to 
base  religion  in  every  young  mind  on  ground  liable  to 
no  such  catastrophes.  The  danger  came  to  me  on  this 
wise. 

Up  to  my  eleventh  year,  my  little  life  inward  and  out- 
ward had  flown  in  a  bright  and  even  current.  Looking 
back  at  it  and  comparing  my  childhood  with  that  of 
others  I  seem  to  have  been  —  probably  from  the  effects 
of  solitude  —  devout  beyond  what  was  normal  at  my  age. 
I  used  to  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  secretly  reading  the 
Bible  and  that  dullest  of  dull  books,  "The  Whole 
Duty  of  Man  "  (the  latter  a  curious  foretaste  of  my  sub- 
sequent life-long  interest  in  the  study  of  ethics),  — 
not  exactly  enjoying  them  but  happy  in  the  feeling  that 

I  was  somehow  approaching  God.  I  used  to  keep  awake 
at  night  to  repeat  various  prayers  and  (wonderful  to 
remember ! )  the  Creed  and  Commandments  !  I  made 
all  sorts  of  severe  rules  for  myself,  and  if  I  broke  them, 
manfully  mulcted  myself  of  any  little  pleasures  or 
endured  some  small  self-imposed  penance.  Of  none 
of  these  things  had  any  one,  even  my  dear  mother,  the 
remotest  idea,  except  once  when  I  felt  driven  like  a  ver- 
itable Cain,  by  my  agonized  conscience  to  go  and  confess 
to   her   that  I  had  said   in  a  recent  rage  (to  myself), 

II  Curse  them  all !  "  referring  to  my  family  in  general  and 
to  my  governess  in  particular !  The  tempest  of  my 
tears  and  sobs  on  this  occasion  evidently  astonished  her, 
and  I  remember  lying  exhausted  on  the  floor  in  a  recess 
in  her  bedroom,  for  a  long  time  before  I  was  able  to 
move. 

But  the  hour  of  doubt  and  difficulty  was  approaching. 
The  first  question  which  ever  arose  in  my  mind  was  con- 
cerning the  miracle  of  the  Loaves  and  Fishes.  I  can 
recall  the  scene  vividly.     It  was  a  winter's  night ;  my 


76  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

father  was  reading  the  Sunday  evening  sermon  in  the 
dining-room.  The  servants,  whose  attendance  was  de 
rigueur,  were  seated  in  a  row  down  the  room.  My  fa- 
ther faced  them,  and  my  mother  and  I  and  my  govern- 
ess sat  round  the  fire  near  him.  I  was  opposite  the 
beautiful  classic  black  marble  mantelpiece,  surmounted 
with  an  antique  head  of  Jupiter  Serapis  (all  photo- 
graphed on  my  brain  even  now),  and  listening  with  all 
my  might,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  the  sermon  which  de- 
scribed the  miracle  of  the  Loaves  and  Fishes.  "  How 
did  it  happen  exactly  ?  "  I  began  cheerfully  to  think, 
quite  imagining  I  was  doing  the  right  thing  to  try  to 
understand  it  all.  "  Well !  first'  there  were  the  fishes 
and  the  loaves.  But  what  was  done  to  them  ?  Did  the 
fish  grow  and  grow  as  they  were  eaten  and  broken  ? 
And  the  bread  the  same  ?  No !  that  is  nonsense.  And 
then  the  twelve  basketsful  taken  up  at  the  end,  when 
there  was  not  nearly  so  much  at  the  beginning.  It  is 
not  possible  !  "  "0  Heavens  !  (was  the  next  thought) 
/  am  doubting  the  Bible !  God  forgive  me  !  I  must 
never  think  of  it  again." 

But  the  little  rift  had  begun,  and  as  time  went  on 
other  difficulties  arose.  Nothing  very  seriously,  how- 
ever, distracted  my  faith  or  altered  the  intensity  of  my 
religious  feelings  for  the  next  two  years,  till  in  October, 
1836,  I  was  sent  to  school  as  I  have  narrated  in  the  last 
chapter,  at  Brighton,  and  a  new  description  of  life 
opened.  At  school  I  came  under  influence  of  two  kinds. 
One  was  the  preaching  of  the  Evangelical  Mr.  Vaughan, 
in  whose  church  (Christ  Church)  were  our  seats  ;  and  I 
recall  vividly  the  emotion  with  which  one  winter's  night 
I  listened  to  his  sermon  on  the  great  theme,  "Though 
your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as  wool." 
The  sense  of  "  the  exceeding  sinfulness  of  sin,"  the  rap- 
turous joy  of  purification  therefrom,  came  home  to  me, 
and  as  I  walked  back  to  school  with  the  waves  thunder- 
ing up  the  Brighton  beach  beside  us  and  the  wind  toss- 


RELIGION.  77 

ing  the  clouds  in  the  evening  sky  overhead,  the  whole 
tremendous  realities  of  the  moral  life  seemed  borne  in 
on  my  heart.  On  the  other  hand,  the  perpetual  over- 
strain of  school-work,  and  unjust  blame  and  penalty  for 
failure  to  do  what  it  was  impossible  to  accomplish  in 
the  given  time,  drove  me  to  all  sorts  of  faults  for  which 
I  hated  and  despised  myself.  When  I  knelt  by  my  bed 
at  night,  after  the  schoolfellow  who  shared  my  room 
was,  as  I  fancied,  asleep,  she  would  get  up  and  pound 
my  head  with  a  bolster,  laughing  and  crying  out,  "  Get 
up,  you  horrid  hypocrite  ;  get  up  !  I  '11  go  on  beating 
you  till  you  do ! "  It  was  not  strange  if,  under  such 
circumstances,  my  beautiful  childish  religion  fell  into 
abeyance  and  my  conscience  into  disquietude.  But,  as 
I  have  narrated,  I  came  home  at  sixteen,  and  then,  once 
more  able  to  enjoy  the  solitude  of  the  woods  and  of  my 
own  bedroom  and  its  inner  study  where  no  one  intruded, 
the  old  feelings,  tinged  with  deep  remorse  for  the  fail- 
ures of  my  school  life  and  for  many  present  faults 
(amongst  others  a  very  bitter  and  unforgiving  temper) 
come  back  with  fresh  vigor.  I  have  always  considered 
that  in  that  summer  in  my  seventeenth  year  I  went 
through  what  Evangelical  Christians  call  "  conversion." 
Eeligion  became  the  supreme  interest  of  life  ;  and  the 
sense  that  I  was  pardoned  its  greatest  joy.  I  was,  of 
course,  a  Christian  of  the  usual  Protestant  type,  finding 
infinite  pleasure  in  the  simple  old  "  Communion "  of 
those  pre-ritualistic  days,  and  in  endless  Bible  readings 
to  myself.  Sometimes  I  rose  in  the  early  summer  dawn 
and  read  a  whole  Gospel  before  I  dressed.  I  think  I 
never  ran  up  into  my  room  in  the  daytime  for  any 
change  of  attire  without  glancing  into  the  book  and  car- 
rying away  some  echo  of  what  I  believed  to  be  "  God's 
Word."  Nobody  knew  anything  about  all  this,  of 
course  ;  but  as  time  went  on  there  were  great  and  terri- 
ble perturbations  in  my  inner  life,  and  these  perhaps  I 
did  not  always  succeed  in  concealing  from  the  watchful 
eyes  of  my  dear  mother. 


78  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

So  far  as  I  can  recall,  the  ideas  of  Christ  and  of  God 
the  Father  were  for  all  practical  religious  purposes 
identified  in  my  young  mind.  It  was  as  God  upon  earth, 
—  the  Redeemer  God,  that  I  worshipped  Jesus.  To  be 
pardoned  through  his  "atonement"  and  at  death  to  en- 
ter Heaven  were  the  religious  objects  of  life.  But  a  new 
and  most  disturbing  element  here  entered  my  thoughts. 
How  did  anybody  know  all  that  story  of  Galilee  to  be 
true  ?  How  could  we  believe  the  miracles  ?  I  have 
read  very  carefully  Gibbon's  XV.  and  XVI.  chapters 
and  other  books  enough  to  teach  me  that  everything  in 
historical  Christianity  had  been  questioned;  and  my 
own  awakening  critical,  and  reasoning,  and  above  all, 
ethical,  faculties  supplied  fresh  crops  of  doubts  of  the 
truth  of  the  story  and  of  the  morality  of  much  of  the 
Old  Testament  history,  and  of  the  scheme  of  Atonement 
itself. 

Then  ensued  four  years  on  which  I  look  back  as  piti- 
ful in  the  extreme.  In  complete  mental  solitude  and 
great  ignorance,  I  found  myself  facing  all  the  dread 
problems  of  human  existence.  For  a  long  time  my  in- 
tense desire  to  remain  a  Christian  predominated,  and 
brought  me  back  from  each  return  to  skepticism  in  a 
passion  of  repentance  and  prayer  to  Christ  to  take  my 
life  or  my  reason  sooner  than  allow  me  to  stray  from  his 
fold.  In  those  clays  no  such  thing  was  heard  of  as 
"  Broad "  interpretations  of  Scripture  doctrines.  We 
were  fifty  years  before  "  Lux  Mundi  "  and  thirty  before 
even  "Essays  and  Beviews."  To  be  a  "Christian," 
then,  was  to  believe  implicitly  in  the  verbal  inspiration 
of  every  word  of  the  Bible,  and  to  adore  Christ  as  "  very 
God  of  very  God."  With  such  implicit  belief  it  was 
permitted  to  hope  we  might,  by  a  good  life  and  through 
Christ's  Atonement,  attain  after  death  to  Heaven. 
Without  the  faith  or  the  good  life  it  was  certain  we 
should  go  to  Hell.  It  was  taught  us  all  that  to  be  good 
only  from  fear  of  Hell  was  not  the  highest  motive ;  the 


RELIGION.  79 

highest  motive  was  the  hope  of  Heaven !  Had  anything 
like  modern  rationalizing  theories  of  the  Atonement,  or 
modern  expositions  of  the  Bible  stories,  or  finally  mod- 
ern loftier  doctrines  of  disinterested  morality  and  reli- 
gion, been  known  to  me  at  this  crisis  of  my  life,  it  is  pos- 
sible that  the  whole  course  of  my  spiritual 'history  would 
have  been  different.  But  of  all  such  "  raising  up  the 
astral  spirits  of  dead  creeds,"  as  Carlyle  called  it,  or  as 
Broad  Churchmen  say,  "  liberating  the  kernel  of  Chris- 
tianity from  the  husk,"  I  knew,  and  could  know  no- 
thing. Evangelical  Christianity  in  1840  presented  itself 
as  a  thing  to  be  taken  whole,  or  rejected  wholly ;  and 
for  years  the  alternations  went  on  in  my  poor  young 
heart  and  brain,  one  week  or  month  of  rational  and 
moral  disbelief,  and  the  next  of  vehement,  remorseful 
return  to  the  faith  which  I  supposed  could  alone  give 
me  the  joy  of  religion.  As  time  went  on,  and  my  read- 
ing supplied  me  with  a  little  more  knowledge  and  my 
doubts  deepened  and  accumulated,  the  returns  to 
Christian  faith  grew  fewer  and  shorter,  and,  as  I  had 
no  idea  of  the  possibility  of  reaching  any  other  vital 
religion,  I  saw  all  that  had  made  to  me  the  supreme  joy 
and  glory  of  life  fade  out  of  it,  while  that  motive  which 
had  been  presented  to  me  as  the  mainspring  of  duty  and 
curb  of  passion,  namely,  the  Hope  of  Heaven,  vanished 
as  a  dream.  I  always  had,  as  I  have  described,  some- 
what of  that  mal-du-ciel  which  Lamartine  talks  of,  that 
longing,  as  from  the  very  depths  of  our  being,  for  an 
Eden  of  Divine  eternal  love.  I  could  scarcely  in  those 
days  read  even  such  poor  stuff  as  the  song  of  the  Peri 
in  Moore's  "  Lalla  Rookh  "  (not  to  speak  of  Bunyan's 
vision  of  the  Celestial  City)  without  tears  rushing  to 
my  eyes.  But  this,  I  saw,  must  all  go  with  the  rest. 
If,  as  Clough  was  saying,  all  unknown  to  me,  about  that 
same  time,  — 

"  Christ  is  not  risen,  no! 
He  lies  and  moulders  low;  " 


80  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

if  all  the  Christian  revelation  were  a  mass  of  mistakes 
and  errors,  no  firmer  ground  on  which  to  build  than  the 
promises  of  Mahomet,  or  of  Buddha,  or  of  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Mountain,  —  of  course  there  was  (so  far  as  I  saw) 
no  reason  left  for  believing  in  any  Heaven  at  all,  or  any 
life  after  death.  Neither  had  the  Moral  Law,  which 
had  come  to  me  through  that  supposed  revelation  on 
Sinai  and  the  Mount  of  Galilee,  any  claim  to  my  obedi- 
ence other  than  might  be  made  out  by  identifying  it 
with  principles  common  to  heathen  and  Christian  alike ; 
an  identity  of  which,  at  that  epoch,  I  had  as  yet  only 
the  vaguest  ideas.  In  short  my  poor  young  soul  was  in 
a  fearful  dilemma.  On  the  one  hand  I  had  the  choice 
to  accept  a  whole  mass  of  dogmas  against  which  my  rea- 
son and  conscience  rebelled ;  on  the  other,  to  abandon 
those  dogmas  and  strive  no  more  to  believe  the  incred- 
ible, or  to  revere  what  I  instinctively  condemned ;  and 
then,  as  a  necessary  sequel,  to  cast  aside  the  laws  of 
Duty  which  I  had  hitherto  cherished  ;  to  cease  to  pray 
or  take  the  sacrament ;  and  to  relinquish  the  hope  of  a 
life  beyond  the  grave. 

It  was  not  very  wonderful,  if,  as  I  think  I  can  recall, 
my  disposition  underwent  a  considerable  change  for  the 
worse  while  all  these  tremendous  questions  were  being 
debated  in  my  solitary  walks  in  the  woods  and  by  the 
seashore,  and  in  my  room  at  night  over  my  Gibbon  or 
my  Bible.  I  know  I  was  often  bitter  and  morose  and 
selfish ;  and  then  came  the  alternate  spell  of  paroxysms 
of  self-reproach  and  fanciful  self-tormentings. 

The  life  of  a  young  woman  in  such  a  home  as  mine  is 
so  guarded  round  on  every  side  and  the  instincts  of  a 
girl  are  so  healthy,  that  the  dangers  incurred  even  in 
such  a  spiritual  landslip  as  I  have  described  are  very 
limited  compared  to  what  they  must  inevitably  be  in 
the  case  of  young  men  or  of  women  less  happily  circum- 
stanced. It  has  been  my  profound  sense  of  the  awful 
perils  of  such  a  downfall  of  faith  as  I  experienced,  the 


BELIGION.  81 

peril  of  moral  shipwreck  without  compass  or  anchorage 
amid  the  tempests  of  youth,  which  has  spurred  me  ever 
since  to  strive  to  forestall  for  others  the  hour  of 
danger. 

At  last  my  efforts  to  believe  in  orthodox  Christianity 
ceased  altogether.  In  the  summer  after  my  twentieth 
birthday  I  had  reached  the  end  of  the  long  struggle. 
The  complete  downfall  of  Evangelicalism  —  which 
seems  to  have  been  effected  in  George  Eliot's  strong 
brain  in  a  single  fortnight  of  intercourse  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bray  —  had  taken  in  my  case  four  long  years  of  mis- 
erable mental  conflict  and  unspeakable  pain.  It  left  me 
with  something  as  nearly  like  a  Tabula  rasa  of  faith  as 
can  well  be  imagined.  I  definitely  disbelieved  in  human 
immortality  and  in  a  supernatural  revelation.  The  ex- 
istence of  God  I  neither  denied  nor  affirmed.  I  felt 
I  had  no  means  of  coming  to  any  knowledge  of  Him.  I 
was,  in  fact  (long  before  the  word  was  invented),  pre- 
cisely —  an  Agnostic. 

One  day,  while  thus  literally  creedless,  I  wandered 
out  alone  as  was  my  wont  into  a  part  of  our  park  a  little 
more  wild  than  the  rest,  where  deer  were  formerly  kept, 
and  sat  down  among  the  rocks  and  the  gorse  which  was 
then  in  its  summer  glory  of  odorous  blossoms,  ever  since 
rich  to  me  with  memories  of  that  hour.  It  was  a  sunny 
day  in  May,  and  after  reading  a  little  of  my  favorite 
Shelley,  I  fell,  as  often  happened,  into  mournful  thought. 
I  was  profoundly  miserable  ;  profoundly  conscious  of  the 
deterioration  and  sliding  down  of  all  my  feelings  and 
conduct  from  the  high  ambitions  of  righteousness  and 
holiness  which  had  been  mine  in  the  days  of  my  Chris- 
tian faith  and  prayer;  and  at  the  same  time  I  knew 
that  the  whole  scaffolding  of  that  higher  life  had  fallen 
to  pieces  and  could  never  be  built  up  again.  While  I 
was  thus  musing  despairingly,  something  stirred  within 
me,  and  I  asked  myself,  "Can  I  not  rise  once  more, 
conquer  my  faults,  and  live  up  to  my  own  idea  of  what 


82  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

is  right  and  good  ?  Even  though  there  be  no  life  after 
death,  I  may  yet  deserve  my  own  respect  here  and  now, 
and  if  there  be  a  God  He  must  approve  me." 

The  resolution  was  made  very  seriously.  I  came 
home  to  begin  a  new  course  and  to  cultivate  a  different 
spirit.  Was  it  strange  that  in  a  few  days  I  began 
instinctively,  and  almost  without  reflection,  to  pray 
again  ?  No  longer  did  I  make  any  kind  of  effort  to 
believe  this  thing  or  the  other  about  God.  I  simply 
addressed  Him  as  the  Lord  of  conscience,  whom  I 
implored  to  strengthen  my  good  resolutions,  to  forgive 
my  faults,  "  to  lift  me  out  of  the  mire  and  clay  and  set 
my  feet  upon  a  rock  and  order  my  goings."  Of  course, 
there  was  Christian  sentiment  and  the  results  of  Chris- 
tian training  in  all  I  felt  and  did.  I  could  no  more 
have  cast  them  off  than  I  could  have  leaped  off  my 
shadow.  But  of  dogmatical  Christianity  there  was 
never  any  more.  I  have  never  from  that  time,  now 
more  than  fifty  years  ago,  attached,  or  wished  I  could 
attach,  credence  to  any  part  of  what  Dr.  Martineau  has 
called  the  "  Apocalyptic  side  of  Christianity,"  nor  (I  may 
add  with  thankfulness)  have  I  ever  lost  faith  in  God. 

The  storms  of  my  youth  were  over.  Henceforth 
through  many  years  there  was  a  progressive  advance 
to  Theism  as  I  have  attempted  to  describe  it  in  my 
books ;  and  there  were  many,  many  hard  moral  fights 
with  various  Apollyons  all  along  the  road ;  but  no  more 
spiritual  revolutions. 

About  thirty  years  after  that  day,  to  me  so  memor- 
able, I  read  in  Mr.  Stopford  Brooke's  "  Life  of  Bobert- 
son,"  these  words,  which  seem  truly  to  tell  my  own 
story  and  which  I  believe  recorded  Bobertson's  own 
experience,  a  little  while  later :  — 

"  It  is  an  awful  moment  when  the  soul  begins  to  find 
that  the  props  on  which  it  blindly  rested  are  many  of 
them  rotten.  ...  I  know  but  one  way  in  which  a 
man  can  come  forth  from  this  agony  scatheless  :  it  is  by 


RELIGION.  83 

holding  fast  to  those  things  which  are  certain  still.  In 
the  darkest  hour  through  which  a  human  soul  can  pass, 
whatever  else  is  doubtful,  this  at  least  is  certain.  If 
there  be  no  God  and  no  future  state,  even  then  it  is 
better  to  be  generous  than  selfish,  better  to  be  true  than 
false,  better  to  be  brave  than  a  coward.  Blessed  beyond 
all  earthly  blessedness  is  the  man  who  in  the  tempestu- 
ous darkness  of  the  soul  has  dared  to  hold  fast  to  these 
landmarks.  I  appeal  to  the  recollection  of  any  man 
who  has  passed  through  that  agony  and  stood  upon  the 
rock  at  last,  with  a  faith  and  hope  and  trust  no  longer 
traditional  but  his  own." 

It  may  be  asked,  "  What  was  my  creed  for  those  first 
years  of  what  I  may  call  indigenous  religion  ?  Natur- 
ally, with  no  better  guide  than  the  inductive  philosophy 
of  Locke  and  Bacon,  I  could  have  no  outlook  beyond  the 
Deism  of  the  last  century.  Miracles  and  miraculous 
inspiration  being  formally  given  up,  there  remained 
only  (as  I  supposed)  as  testimony  to  the  existence  and 
character  of  God  such  inductions  as  were  drawn  in 
"  Paley's  Theory"  and  the  "Bridgwater  Treatises  ; "  with 
all  of  which  I  was  very  familiar.  Voltaire's  "Dieu 
Toutpuissant,  Bemunerateur  Vengeur,"  the  God  whose 
garb  (as  Goethe  says)  is  woven  in  "  Nature's  roaring 
loom ; "  the  Beneficent  Creator,  from  whom  came  all  the 
blessings  which  filled  my  cup  ;  these  were  the  outlines  of 
Deity  for  me  for  the  time.  The  theoretical  connection 
between  such  a  God  and  my  own  duty  I  had  yet  to 
work  out  through  much  hard  study,  but  fortunately 
moral  instinct  was  practically  sufficient  to  identify 
them ;  nay,  it  was,  as  I  have  just  narrated,  through 
such  moral  instincts  that  I  was  led  back  straight  to 
religion,  and  began  to  pray  to  my  Maker  as  my  Moral 
Lord,  so  soon  as  ever  I  strove  in  earnest  to  obey  my 
conscience. 

There  was  nothing  in  such  simple  Deism  to  warrant 
a  belief  in  a  future   life,  and  I  deliberately  trained 


84  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

myself  to  abandon  a  hope  which  was  always  very  dear 
to  me.  As  regards  Christ,  there  was  inevitably,  at  first, 
some  reaction  in  my  mind  from  the  worship  of  my 
Christian  days.  I  almost  felt  I  had  been  led  into  idol- 
atry, and  I  bitterly  resented  then  (and  ever  since)  the 
paramount  prominence,  the  genuflections  at  the  creed, 
and  the  especially  reverential  voice  and  language 
applied  constantly  by  Christians  to  the  Son,  rather 
than  to  the  Father.  But  after  I  had  read  F.  W.  New- 
man's book  of  the  "  Soul,"  I  recognized,  with  relief,  how 
many  of  the  phenomena  of  the  spiritual  life  which 
Christians  are  wont  to  treat  as  exclusively  bound  up 
with  their  creed,  are,  in  truth,  phases  of  the  natural 
history  of  all  devout  spirits ;  and  my  longing  has  ever 
since  been  rather  to  find  grounds  of  sympathy  with 
believers  in  Christ  and  for  union  with  them  on  the 
broadest  bases  of  common  gratitude,  penitence,  restora- 
tion, and  adoration,  rather  than  to  accentuate  our  differ- 
ences. The  view  which  I  eventually  reached  of  Christ 
as  an  historical  human  character,  is  set  forth  at  large 
in  my  "Broken  Lights."  He  was,  I  think,  the  man 
whose  life  was  to  the  life  of  Humanity  what  Kegenera- 
tion  is  to  the  individual  soul. 

I  may  here  conclude  the  story  of  my  religious  life 
extending  through  the  years  after  the  above  described 
momentous  change.  After  a  time,  occupied  in  part 
with  study  and  with  efforts  to  be  useful  to  our  poor 
neighbors  and  to  my  parents,  my  Deism  was  lifted  to  a 
higher  plane  by  one  of  those  inflowings  of  truth  which 
seem  the  simplest  things  in  the  world,  but  are  as  rain  on 
the  dry  ground  in  summer  to  the  mind  which  receives 
them.  One  day  while  praying  quietly,  the  thought 
came  to  me  with  extraordinary  lucidity :  "  God's  Good- 
ness is  what  I  mean  by  Goodness !  It  is  not  a  mere 
title,  like  the  '  Majesty  '  of  a  King.  He  has  really  that 
character  which  we  call  'Good.'  He  is  Just,  as  I 
understand  Justice,  only  more  perfectly  just.     He   is 


RELIGION.  85 

Good  as  I  understand  Goodness,  only  more  perfectly- 
good.  He  is  not  good  in  time  and  tremendous  in  eter- 
nity ;  not  good  to  some  of  His  creatures  and  cruel  to 
others,  but  wholly,  eternally,  universally  good.  If  I 
could  know  and  understand  all  His  acts  from  eternity, 
there  would  not  be  one  which  would  not  deepen  my 
reverence  and  call  forth  my  adoring  praise." 

To  some  readers  this  discovery  may  seem  a  mere 
platitude  and  truism :  the  assertion  of  a  thing  which 
they  have  never  failed  to  understand.  To  me  it  was  a 
real  revelation  which  transformed  my  religion  from 
one  of  reverence  only  into  one  of  vivid  love  for  that 
Infinite  Goodness  which  I  then  beheld  unclouded.  The 
deep  shadow  left  for  years  on  my  soul  by  the  doctrine 
of  eternal  Hell  had  rolled  away  at  last.  Another  truth 
came  home  to  me  many  years  later,  and  not  till  after  I 
had  written  my  first  book.  It  was  one  night,  after  sit- 
ting up  late  in  my  room  reading  (for  once)  no  grave 
work,  but  a  pretty  little  story  by  Mrs.  Gaskell.  Up  to 
that  time  I  had  found  the  pleasures  of  knowledge  the 
keenest  of  all,  and  gloried  in  the  old  philosopher's  dic- 
tum, "  Man  was  created  to  know  and  to  contemplate." 
I  looked  on  the  pleasures  of  the  affections  as  secondary 
and  inferior  to  those  of  the  intellect,  and  I  strove  to 
perform  my  duties  to  those  around  me,  rather  in  a 
spirit  of  moral  rectitude  and  obedience  to  law  than  in  one 
of  loving-kindness.  Suddenly  again  it  came  to  me  to 
see  that  Love  is  greater  than  Knowledge ;  that  it  is 
more  beautiful  to  serve  our  brothers  freely  and  ten- 
derly, than  to  "  hive  up  learning  with  each  studious 
year,"  to  compassionate  the  failures  of  others  and 
ignore  them  when  possible,  rather  than  undertake  the 
hard  process  (I  always  found  it  so !)  of  forgiveness  of 
injuries  ;  to  say,  "  What  may  I  be  allowed  to  do  to 
help  and  bless  this  one  —  or  that  ?  "  rather  than  "  What 
am  I  bound  by  duty  to  do  for  him,  or  her ;  and  how 
little  will  suffice  ?  "     As  these  thoughts  swelled  in  my 


86  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

heart,  I  threw  myself  down  in  a  passion  of  happy  tears, 
and  passed  most  of  the  night  thinking  how  I  should 
work  out  what  I  had  learned.  I  had  scarcely  fallen 
asleep  towards  morning  when  I  was  waked  by  the 
intelligence  that  one  of  the  servants,  a  young  laundress, 
was  dying.  I  hurried  to  the  poor  woman's  room,  which 
was  at  a  great  distance  from  mine,  and  found  all  the 
men  and  women  servants  collected  around  her.  She 
wished  for  some  one  to  pray  for  her,  and  there  was  no 
one  to  do  it  but  myself,  and  so,  while  the  innocent 
girl's  soul  passed  away,  I  led,  for  the  first  and  only 
time,  the  prayers  of  my  father's  household. 

I  had  read  a  good  number  of  books  by  Deists  during 
the  preceding  years.  Gibbon's  Miscellaneous  Works 
(which  I  greatly  admired),  Hume,  Tindal,  Collins, 
Voltaire,  beside  as  many  of  the  old  heathen  moralists 
and  philosophers  as  I  could  reach :  Marcus  Aurelius, 
Seneca,  Epictetus,  Plutarch's  "  Moralia,"  Xenophon's 
"Memorabilia,"  and  a  little  of  Plato.  But  of  any 
modern  book  touching  on  the  particular  questions  which 
had  tortured  me  I  knew  nothing  till,  by  the  merest 
good  fortune,  I  fell  in  with  "Blanco  White's  Life." 
How  much  comfort  and  help  I  found  in  his  "Medita- 
tions" the  reader  may  guess.  Curiously  enough,  long 
years  afterwards,  Bishop  Colenso  told  me  that  the  same 
book,  falling  into  his  hands  in  Natal  by  the  singular 
chance  of  a  colonist,  possessing  the  volumes,  had  deter- 
mined him  to  come  over  to  England  and  bring  out  his 
"Pentateuch."  Thus  poor  Blanco  White  after  all 
prophesied  rightly  when  he  said  that  he  was  "  one  of 
those  who,  falling  in  the  ditch,  help  other  men  to  pass 
over ! " 

Another  book  some  years  later  was  very  helpful  to 
me  —  F.  W.  Newman's  "Soul."  Dean  Stanley  told  me 
that  he  thought  in  the  far  future  that  single  book  would 
be  held  to  outweigh  in  value  all  that  the  author's  bro- 
ther, Cardinal  Newman,  had  ever  written.     I  entered 


RELIGION.  87 

not  long  after  into  correspondence  with  Professor  New- 
man, and  have  had  the  pleasure  of  calling  him  my 
friend  ever  since.  We  have  interchanged  letters,  or  at 
least  friendly  greetings,  at  short  intervals  now  for 
nearly  fifty  years. 

But  the  epoch-making  book  for  me  was  Theodore 
Parker's  "Discourse  of  Religion."  Reading  a  notice 
of  it  in  the  "Athenaeum,"  soon  after  its  publication 
(somewhere  about  the  year  1845),  I  sent  for  it,  and 
words  fail  to  tell  the  satisfaction  and  encouragement  it 
gave  me.  One  must  have  been  isolated  and  care-laden 
as  I  to  estimate  the  value  of  such  a  book.  I  had  come, 
as  I  have  narrated  above,  to  the  main  conclusions  of 
Parker,  —  namely,  the  absolute  goodness  of  God  and 
the  non-veracity  of  popular  Christianity,  —  three  years 
before ;  so  that  it  has  been  a  mistake  into  which  some 
of  my  friends  have  fallen  when  they  have  described  me 
as  converted  from  orthodoxy  by  Parker.  But  his  book 
threw  a  flood  of  light  on  my  difficult  way.  It  was, 
in  the  first  place,  infinitely  satisfactory  to  find  the 
ideas  which  I  had  hammered  out  painfully  and  often 
imperfectly,  at  last  welded  together,  set  forth  in  lucid 
order,  supported  by  apparently  adequate  erudition  and 
heart-warmed  by  fervent  piety.  But,  in  the  second 
place,  the  Discourse  helped  me  most  importantly  by 
teaching  me  to  regard  Divine  Inspiration  no  longer  as  a 
miraculous  and  therefore  incredible  thing;  but  as  nor- 
mal, and  in  accordance  with  the  natural  relations  of 
the  infinite  and  finite  spirit;  a  Divine  inflowing  of  men- 
tal Light  precisely  analogous  to  that  moral  influence 
which  divines  call  Grace.  As  every  devout  and  obedi- 
ent soul  may  expect  to  share  in  Divine  Grace,  so  the 
devout  and  obedient  souls  of  all  the  ages  have  shared 
(as  Parker  taught)  in  Divine  Inspiration.  And,  as  the 
reception  of  grace,  even  in  large  measure,  does  not  ren- 
der us  impeccable,  so  neither  does  the  reception  of  In- 
spiration make  us  Infallible.     It  is  at  this  point  that 


88  FRjLNCES  power  cob  be. 

Deism  stops  and  Theism  begins :  namely,  when  our 
faith  transcends  all  that  can  be  gleaned  from  the  testi- 
mony of  the  bodily  senses  and  accepts  as  supremely 
trustworthy  the  direct  Divine  teaching,  the  "  original 
revelation  "  of  God's  holiness  and  love  in  the  depths  of 
the  soul.  Theodore  Parker  adopted  the  alternative 
synonym  to  mark  the  vital  difference  in  the  philosophy 
which  underlies  the  two  creeds ;  a  theoretic  difference 
leading  to  most  important  practical  consequences  in  the 
whole  temper  and  spirit  of  Theism  as  distinct  from 
Deism.  I  saw  all  this  clearly  ere  long,  and  ranged  my- 
self thenceforth  as  a  Theist  ;  a  name  now  familiar  to 
everybody,  but  which,  when  my  family  came  to  know  I 
took  it,  led  them  to  tell  me  with  some  contempt  that  it 
was  "  a  word  in  a  Dictionary,  not  a  Religion." 

A  few  months  after  I  had  absorbed  Parker's  Dis- 
course, the  great  sorrow  of  my  life  befell  me.  My 
mother,  whose  health  had  been  feeble  ever  since  I  could 
remember  her,  and  who  was  now  seventy  years  of  age, 
passed  away  from  a  world  which  has  surely  held  few 
spirits  so  pure  and  sweet.  She  died  with  her  weeping 
husband  and  sons  beside  her  bed  and  with  her  head 
resting  on  my  breast.  Almost  her  last  words  were  to 
tell  me  I  had  been  "the  pride  and  joy"  of  her  life. 
The  agony  I  suffered  when  I  realized  that  she  was  gone 
I  shall  not  try  to  tell.  She  was  the  one  being  in  the 
world  whom  I  truly  loved  through  all  the  passionate 
years  of  youth  and  early  womanhood;  the  only  one 
who  really  loved  me.  Never  one  word  of  anger  or  bit- 
terness had  passed  from  her  lips  to  me,  nor  (thank 
God !)  from  mine  to  her  in  the  twenty-four  years  in 
which  she  blessed  my  life ;  and  for  the  latter  part  of 
that  time  her  physical  weakness  had  drawn  a  thousand 
tender  cares  of  mine  around  her.  No  relationship  in 
all  the  world,  I  think,  can  ever  be  so  perfect  as  that  of 
mother  and  daughter  under  such  circumstances,  when 
the  strength  of  youth  becomes  the  support  of  age,  and 
the  sweet  dependence  of  childhood  is  reversed. 


RELIGION.  89 

But  it  was  all  over  —  I  was  alone ;  no  more  motherly 
love  and  tenderness  were  ever  again  to  reach  my  thirst- 
ing heart.  But  this  was  not,  as  I  recall  it,  the  worst 
pang  in  that  dreadful  agony.  I  had  (as  I  said  above) 
ceased  to  believe  in  a  future  life,  and  therefore  I  had 
no  choice  but  to  think  that  that  most  beautiful  soul 
which  was  worth  all  the  kingdoms  of  earth  had  actually 
ceased  to  be.     She  was  a  "  Memory ; "  nothing  more. 

I  was  not  then  or  at  any  time  one  of  those  fortunate 
people  who  can  suddenly  cast  aside  the  conclusions 
which  they  have  reached  by  careful  intellectual  pro- 
cesses, and  leap  to  opposite  opinions  at  the  call  of  sen- 
timent. I  played  no  tricks  with  my  convictions,  but 
strove  as  best  I  could  to  endure  the  awful  strain,  and  to 
recognize  the  Divine  Justice  and  Goodness  through  the 
darkness  of  death.  I  need  not  and  cannot  say  more  on 
the  subject. 

Happily  for  me,  there  were  many  duties  waiting  for 
me,  and  I  could  recognize  even  then  that,  though  pleas- 
ure seemed  gone  forever,  yet  it  was  a  relief  to  feel  I 
had  still  duties.  "  Something  to  do  for  others  "  was  an 
assuagement  of  misery.  My  father  claimed  first  and 
much  attention,  and  the  position  I  now  held  of  the 
female  head  of  the  family  and  household  gave  me  a 
good  deal  of  employment.  To  this  I  added  teaching  in 
my  village  school  a  mile  from  our  house  two  or  three 
times  a  week,  and  looking  after  all  the  sick  and  hungry 
in  the  two  villages  of  Donabate  and  Balisk.  Those  were 
the  years  of  Famine  and  Fever  in  Ireland,  and  there 
was  abundant  call  for  all  our  energies  to  combat  them. 
I  shall  write  of  these  matters  in  the  next  chapter. 

I  had,  though  with  pain,  kept  my  heresies  secret  dur- 
ing my  mother's  declining  years  and  till  my  father  had 
somewhat  recovered  from  his -sorrow.  I  had  continued 
to  attend  family  prayers  and  church  services,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Communion,  and  had  only  vaguely 
allowed  it  to  be  understood  that  I  was  nob  in  harmony 


90  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

with  them  all.     When  my  poor  father  learned  the  full 
extent  of  my  "infidelity,"  it  was  a   terrible  blow  to 
him,  for  which  I  have,  in  later  years,  sincerely  pitied 
him.     He  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak  to  me,  but 
though  I  was  in  his  house  he  wrote  to  tell  me  I  had 
better  go  away.     My  second  brother,  a  barrister,  had  a 
year  before  given  up  his  house  in  Queen  Anne  Street 
under  a  terrible  affliction,  and  had  gone,  broken-hearted, 
to  live  on  a  farm  which  he  hired  in  the  wilds  of  Done- 
gal.    There  I  went  as  my  father  desired  and  remained 
for  nearly  a  year ;  not  knowing  whether  I  should  ever 
be  permitted  to  return  home  and  rather  expecting  to  be 
disinherited.     He  wrote  to  me  two  or  three  times  and 
said  that  if  my  doubts  only  extended  in  certain  direc- 
tions he  could  bear  with  them,  "but  if  I  rejected  Christ 
and  disbelieved  the  Bible,  a  man  was  called  upon  to 
keep  the  plague  of  such  opinions  from  his  own  house." 
Then  he  required  me  to  answer  him  on  those  points 
categorically.     Of  course  I  did  so  plainly,  and  told  him 
I  did  not  believe  that  Christ  was  God ;  and  I  did  not 
(in  his  sense)  believe  in  the  inspiration  or  authority 
■of  the  Bible.     After  this  ensued  a  very  long  silence,  in 
which  I  remained  entirely  ignorant  of  my  destiny  and 
braced  myself  to  think  of  earning  my  future  livelihood. 
I  was  absolutely   lonely;    my  brother,  though  always 
very  kind  to  me,  had  not  the  least  sympathy  with  my 
heresies,  and  thought  my  father's  conduct  (as  I  do) 
quite  natural ;  and  I  had  not  a  friend  or  relative  from 
whom  I  could  look  for  any  sort  of  comfort.     A  young 
cousin  to  whom  I  had  spoken  of  them  freely,  and  who 
had,  in  a  way,  adopted  my  ideas,  wrote  to  me  to  say  she 
had  been  shown  the  error  of  them,  and  was  shocked  to 
think  she  had  been  so  misguided.     This  was  the  last 
straw.     After  I  received  this  letter  I  wandered  out  in 
the  dusk  as  usual  down  to  a  favorite  nook  —  a  natural 
seat  under  the  bank  in  a  bend  of  the  river  which  ran 
through  Bonny  Glen,  —  and  buried  my  face  in  the  grass. 


RELIGION. 


91 


As  I  did  so  my  lips  touched  a  primrose  which  had 
blossomed  in  that  precise  spot  since  I  had  last  been 
there,  and  the  soft,  sweet  flower  which  I  had  in  child- 
hood chosen  for  my  mother's  birthday  garland  seemed 
actually  to  kiss  my  face.  No  one  who  has  not  experi- 
enced titter  loneliness  can  perhaps  quite  imagine  how 
much  comfort  such  an  incident  can  bring. 

As  I  had  no  duties  in  Donegal,  and  seldom  saw  our 
few  neighbors,  I  occupied  myself,  often  for  seven  or 
eight  or  even  nine  hours  a  day,  in  writing  an  "  Essay 
on  True  Religion."  I  possess  this  MS.  still,  and  have 
been  lately  examining  it.  Of  course,  as  a  first  lit- 
erary effort,  it  has  many  faults,  and  my  limited  oppor- 
tunities for  reference  render  parts  of  it  very  incom- 
plete ;  but  it  is  not  a  bad  piece  of  work.  The  first  part 
is  employed  in  setting  forth  my  reasons  for  belief  in 
God.  The  second,  those  for  not  believing  in  (the 
apocalyptic  part  of)  Christianity.  The  chapters  on 
Miracles  and  Prophesy  (written  from  the  literal  and 
matter-of-fact  standpoint  of  that  epoch)  are  not  ill- 
done,  while  the  moral  failures  of  the  Bible  and  of  the 
orthodox  theology,  the  histories  of  Jacob,  Jael,  David, 
etc.,  and  the  dogmas  of  Original  Sin,  the  Atonement,  a 
Devil,  and  eternal  Hell,  are  criticised  pretty  success- 
fully. A  considerable  part  of  the  book  consists  in  a 
comparison  in  parallel  columns  of  moral  precepts  from 
the  Old  and  New  Testaments  on  one  side,  and  from 
non-Christian  writers,  Euripides,  Socrates  (Xeno- 
phon),  Plutarch,  Sextius,  Marcus  Aurelius,  Epictetus, 
Seneca,  the  Zend  Avesta  (Anquetil  du  Perron's),  The 
Institutes  of  Menu  (Sir  W.  Jones'),  the  Dam  ma  Padan, 
the  Talmud,  etc.,  on  the  other.  For  years  I  had  seized 
every  opportunity  of  collecting  the  most  striking  ethical 
dicta,  and  I  thus  marshalled  them  to  what  appeared  to 
me  good  purpose,  namely,  the  disproof  of  the  origin- 
ality or  exceptional  loftiness  of  Christian  Morals.  I 
did   not  apprehend  till  later  years,  how  the   supreme 


92  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

achievement  of  Christianity  was  not  the  inculcation  of 
a  neiv,  still  less  of  a  systematic  Morality  ;  but  the  intro- 
duction of  a  new  spirit  into  Morality ;  as  Christ  him- 
self said,  a  leaven  into  the  lump. 

Eeading  Parker's  "  Discourse  ",  as  I  did  very  naturally 
in  my  solitude  once  again,  it  occurred  to  me  to  write  to 
him  and  ask  him  to  tell  me  on  what  ground  he  based 
the  faith  which  I  perceived  he  held,  in  a  life  after 
death  ?  It  had  seemed  to  me  that  the  guarantee  of  Rev- 
elation having  proved  worthless,  there  remained  no 
sufficient  reason  for  hope  to  counter-weigh  the  obvious 
difficulty  of  conceiving  of  a  survival  of  the  soul.  Par- 
ker answered  me  in  a  most  kind  letter,  accompanied  by 
his  "  Sermon  of  the  Immortal  Life."  Of  course  I  studied 
this  with  utmost  care  and  sympathy,  and  by  slow, 
very  slow  degrees,  as  I  came  more  to  take  in  the  full 
scope  of  the  Theistic,  as  distinguished  from  the  Deistic, 
view  I  saw  my  way  to  a  renewal  of  the  Hope  of  the 
Human  Race  which,  twenty  years  later,  I  set  forth  as 
best  I  could  in  the  little  book  of  that  name.  I  learned 
to  trust  the  intuition  of  Immortality  which  is  "  written 
in  the  heart  of  man  by  a  Hand  which  writes  no  false- 
hoods." I  deemed  also  that  I  could  see  (as  Parker 
says)  the  evidence  of  a  "  summer  yet  to  be  in  the  buds 
which  lie  folded  through  our  northern  winter  ; "  the 
presence  in  human  nature  of  many  efflorescences  —  and 
they  the  fairest  of  all  —  quite  unaccountable  and  un- 
meaning on  the  hypothesis  that  the  end  of  man  is  in  the 
grave.  In  later  years  I  think,  as  the  gloom  of  the  evil 
and  cruelty  of  the  world  has  shrouded  more  the  almost 
cloudless  skies  of  my  youth,  I  have  most  fervently  held 
by  the  doctrine  of  Immortality  because  it  is  to  me  the 
indispensable  corollary  of  that  of  the  goodness  of  God.  I 
am  not  afraid  to  repeat  the  words,  which  so  deeply 
shocked,  when  they  were  first  published,  my  old  friend, 
P.  W.  Newman :  "If  Man  be  not  immortal,  God  is  not 
just." 


RELIGION.  93 

Kecovering  this  faith,  as  I  may  say,  rationally  and 
not  by  any  gust  of  emotion,  I  had  the  inexpressible  hap- 
piness of  thinking  henceforth  of  my  mother  as  still 
existing  in  God's  universe,  and  (as  well  I  knew)  loving 
me  wherever  she  might  be,  and  under  whatever  loftier 
condition  of  being.  To  meet  her  again  "spirit  to 
spirit,  ghost  to  ghost,"  has  been  to  me  for  forty  years 
the  sweetest  thought  connected  with  death.  Ere  long, 
now,  it  must  be  realized. 

After  nine  or  ten  months  of  this,  by  no  means  harsh, 
exile,  my  father  summoned  me  to  return  home.  I  re- 
sumed my  place  as  his  daughter  in  doing  all  I  could  for 
his  comfort,  and  as  the  head  of  his  house  ;  merely 
thenceforth  abstaining  from  attendance  either  at 
Church  or  at  family  prayer.  I  had  several  favorite 
nooks  and  huts  near  and  far  in  the  woods,  which  I 
made  into  little  Oratories  for  myself,  and  to  one  or 
other  of  them  I  resorted  almost  every  evening  at  dusk ; 
making  it  a  habit  —  not  broken  for  many  years  after- 
wards, to  repeat  a  certain  versified  Litany  of  Thanks- 
giving which  I  had  written  and  read  to  my  mother. 
On  Sundays,  when  the  rest  of  the  family  went 
to  the  village  church,  I  had  the  old  garden  for  a 
beautiful  cathedral.  Having  let  myself  in  with  my 
own  key  and  locked  the  doors,  I  knew  I  had  the  lovely 
six  acres  within  the  high  walls,  free  for  hours  from 
all  observation  or  intrusion.  How  much  difference  it 
makes  in  life  to  have  at  command  such  peace  and  sol- 
itude it  is  hard  to  estimate.  I  look  back  to  some  of 
the  summer  forenoons  spent  alone  in  that  garden  as  to 
the  flowering  time  of  my  seventy  years.  God  grant 
that  the  afterglow  of  such  hours  may  remain  with  me 
to  the  last,  and  that  "  at  eventide  it  may  be  light !  " 

I  knew  that  there  were  Unitarian  chapels  in  Dublin 
at  this  time,  and  much  wished  to  attend  them  now  and 
then ;  but  I  would  not  cause  annoyance  to  my  father 
by  the  notice  which  my  journey  to  the  town  on  a  Sun- 


94  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

day  would  have  attracted.  Only  on  New  Year's  Day  I 
thought  I  might  go  unobserved  and  interpolate  atten- 
dance at  the  service  among  my  usual  engagements.  I 
went  accordingly  to  Dublin  one  1st  of  January  and 
drove  to  the  chapel  of  which  I  had  heard  in  Eustace 
Street.  It  was  a  big,  dreary  place  with  scarcely  a 
quarter  of  the  seats  occupied,  and  a  middle-class  con- 
gregation apparently  very  cool  and  indifferent.  The 
service  was  a  miserable,  hybrid  affair,  neither  Chris- 
tian as  I  understand  Christianity,  nor  yet  The- 
istic ;  but  it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  merely  to 
stand  and  kneel  with  other  people  at  the  hymns  and 
prayers.  At  last  the  sermon,  for  which  I  might  almost 
say  I  was  hungry,  arrived.  The  old  minister  in  his 
black  gown  ascended  the  pulpit,  having  taken  with  him 

—  what  ? —  could  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  It  was  an  old 
printed  book,  bound  in  the  blue  and  drab  old  fuzzy 
paper  of  the  year  1810  or  thereabouts,  and  out  of  this 
he  proceeded  to  read  an  erudite  discourse  by  some 
father  of  English  Socinianism,  on  the  precise  value  of 
the  Greek  article  when  used  before  the  word  #eo's ! 
My  disappointment,  not  to  say  disgust,  were  such  that, 

—  as  it  was  easy  from  my  seat  to  leave  the  place  with- 
out disturbing  any  one  —  I  escaped  into  the  street, 
never  (it  may  be  believed)  to  repeat  my  experiment. 

It  was  an  anomalous  position,  that  which  I  held  at 
Newbridge,  from  the  time  of  my  return  from  Donegal 
till  my  father's  death  eight  years  later.  I  took  my 
place  as  head  of  the  household  at  the  family  table  and 
in  welcoming  our  guests,  but  I  was  all  the  time  in  a 
sort  of  moral  Coventry,  under  a  vague  atmosphere  of 
disapprobation  wherein  all  I  said  was  listened  to  cau- 
tiously as  likely  to  conceal  some  poisonous  heresy. 
Everything  of  this  kind,  however,  wears  down  and  be- 
comes easier  and  softer  as  time  goes  on,  and  most  so 
when  people  are,  au  fond,  just-minded  and  good-hearted, 
and  the  years  during  which  I  remained  at  home  till  my 


RELIGION.  95 

father's  death,  though  mentally  very  lonely,  were  far 
from  unhappy.  In  particular,  the  perfect  clearness  and 
straightforwardness  of  my  position  was,  and  has  ever 
since  been,  a  source  of  strength  and  satisfaction 
to  me,  for  which  I  have  thanked  God  a  thousand 
times.  My  inner  life  was  made  happy  by  my  simple 
faith  in  God's  infinite  and  perfect  love  ;  and  I  never 
had  any  doubt  whether  I  had  erred  in  abandoning 
the  creed  of  my  youth.  On  the  contrary,  as  the  whole 
tendency  of  modern  science  and  criticism  showed  itself 
stronger  and  stronger  against  the  old  orthodoxy,  my 
hopes  were  unduly  raised  of  a  not  distant  New  Refor- 
mation which  I  might  even  live  to  see.  These  sanguine 
hopes  have  faded.  As  Dean  Stanley  seems  to  have  felt, 
there  was,  somewhere  between  the  years  '74  and  '78,  a 
turn  in  the  tide  of  men's  thoughts  (due,  I  think,  to  the 
paramount  influence  and  insolence  which  physical 
science  then  assumed),  which  has  postponed  any  decisive 
"broad"  movement  for  years  beyond  my  possible  span 
of  life.  But  though  nothing  appears  quite  so  bright  to 
my  old  eyes  as  all  things  did  to  me  in  youth,  though 
familiarity  with  human  wickedness  and  misery,  and  still 
more  with  the  horrors  of  scientific  cruelty  to  animals, 
have  strained  my  faith  in  God's  justice  sometimes  even 
to  agony,  —  I  know  that  no  form  of  religious  creed 
could  have  helped  me  any  more  than  my  own  or  as 
much  as  it  has  done  to  bear  the  brunt  of  such  trial ;  and 
I  remain  to  the  present  unshaken  both  in  respect  to  the 
denials  and  the  affirmations  of  Theism.  There  are  great 
difficulties,  soul-torturing  difficulties  besetting  it;  but 
the  same  or  worse  beset  every  other  form  of  faith  in 
God ;  and  infinitely  more,  and  to  my  mind  insurmount- 
able ones,  beset  Atheism. 

For  fifty  years  Theism  has  been  my  staff  of  life.  I 
must  soon  try  how  it  will  support  me  down  the  last  few 
steps  of  my  earthly  way.     I  believe  it  will  do  so  well. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY   FIRST   BOOK. 

When  I  was  thirty  years  of  age  I  had  an  attack  of 
bronchitis  from  which  I  nearly  died.  When  very  ill 
and  not  expecting  to  recover  I  reflected  that  while  my 
own  life  had  been  made  happy  and  strong  by  the  faith 
which  had  been  given  to  me,  I  had  done  nothing  to  help 
any  other  human  soul  to  find  that  solution  of  the  dread 
problem  which  had  brought  such  peace  to  me.  I  felt, 
as  Mrs.  Browning  says,  that  a  Truth  was  "  like  bread 
at  Sacrament "  to  be  passed  on.  When,  unexpectedly 
to  myself,  I  slowly  recovered  after  a  sojourn  in  Devon- 
shire, I  resolved  to  set  about  writing  something  which 
should  convey  as  much  as  possible  of  my  own  convic- 
tions to  whosoever  should  read  it.  For  a  time  I  thought 
of  enlarging  and  completing  my  MS.  "  Essay  on  True 
Religion,"  written  for  my  own  instruction;  but  the 
more  I  reflected  the  less  I  cared  to  labor  to  pull  down 
hastily  the  crumbling  walls  which  yet  sheltered  mil- 
lions of  souls,  and  the  more  I  longed  to  build  up  anew 
on  solid  base  a  stronghold  of  refuge  for  those  driven 
like  myself  from  the  old  ground  of  faith  in  God  and 
Duty.  Especially  I  felt  that  as  the  worst  dangers  of 
such  transitions  lay  in  the  sudden  snapping  of  the  sup- 
posed bond  of  Morality,  and  collapse  of  the  hopes 
of  heaven  and  terrors  of  hell  which  had  been  used  as 
motives  of  virtue  and  deterrents  from  vice ;  so  the  most 
urgent  need  lay  in  the  direction  of  a  system  of  ethics 
which  should  base  Duty  on  ground  absolutely  apart 
from  that  of  the  supposed  supernatural  revelation  and 


MY   FIRST   BOOK.  97 

supply  sanctions  and  motives  unconnected  therewith. 
As  it  happened  at  this  very  time,  my  good  (orthodox) 
friend,  Miss  Felicia  Skene,  had  recommended  me  to  read 
Kant's  "  Metaphysic  of  Ethics,"  and  I  had  procured  Sem- 
ple's  translation  and  found  it  almost  dazzlingly  enlight- 
ening to  my  mind.  It  would  be  presumptuous  for  me 
to  say  that  then,  or  at  any  time,  I  have  thoroughly  mas- 
tered either  this  book  or  the  "  Eeinen  Vernunft "  of  this 
greatest  of  thinkers ;  but,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to 
do  so,  I  can  say  for  my  own  individual  mind  (as  his 
German  disciples  were  wont  to  do  for  themselves),  "  God 
said,  Let  there  be  Light !  and  there  was  —  the  Kantian 
Philosophy."  It  has  been,  and  no  doubt  will  be  still 
further,  modified  by  succeeding  metaphysicians  and 
sometimes  it  may  appear  to  have  been  superseded,  but  I 
cannot  think  otherwise  than  that  Kant  was  and  will 
finally  be  recognized  to  have  been  the  Newton  of  the 
laws  of  Mind. 

I  shall  now  endeavor  to  explain  the  purpose  of  my 
first  book  (which  is  also  my  magnum  opus)  by  quoting 
the  Preface  at  some  length ;  and,  as  the  third  edition 
has  long  been  out  of  print  and  is  unattainable  in  Eng- 
land or  America,  I  shall  permit  myself  to  embody  in 
this  chapter  a  general  account  of  the  drift  of  it,  with 
extracts  sufficient  to  serve  as  samples  of  the  whole. 
Looking  over  it  now,  after  the  lapse  of  just  forty  years, 
I  can  see  that  my  reading  at  that  time  had  lain  so  much 
among  old  books  that  the  style  is  almost  that  of  a 
didactic  Treatise  of  the  seventeenth  century;  and  the 
ideas,  likewise,  are  necessarily  exclusively  those  of  the 
pre-Darwinian  Era.  Conceptions  so  familiar  to  us  now 
as  that  of  an  "  hereditary  set  of  the  brain,"  and  of  the 
"  Capitalized  experience  of  the  tribe,"  were  then  utterly 
unthought  of.  I  have  been  well  aware  that  it  would, 
consequently,  have  been  necessary  —  had  the  book  been 
republished  any  time  during  the  last  twenty  years,  — 
to  rewrite  much  of  it  and  define  the  standpoint  of  an 


98  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Intuitionist  as  regards  the  theory  of  Evolution  in  its 
bearing  on  the  foundation  of  ethics.  For  this  task,  how- 
ever, I  have  always  lacked  leisure ;  and  my  article  on 
"  Darwinism  in  Morals  "  (reprinted  in  the  book  of  that 
name)  has  been  the  best  effort  I  have  made  in  such  direc- 
tion. I  may  here,  perhaps,  nevertheless  be  allowed  to 
say  as  a  last  word  in  favor  of  this  Essay,  namely,  that 
such  as  it  is,  it  has  served  me,  personally,  as  a  scaffold- 
ing for  all  my  life-work,  a  key  to  open  most  of  the  locks 
which  might  have  barred  my  way.  If  now  I  feel  (as 
men  and  women  are  wont  to  do  at  threescore  years  and 
ten)  that  I  hold  all  philosophic  opinions  with  less  tena- 
cious grasp,  less  "  cocksureness "  than  in  earlier  days, 
and  know  that  the  great  realities  to  which  they  led  will 
remain  realities  for  me  still,  should  those  opinions 
prove  here  and  there  unstable,  —  it  is  not  that  I  am 
disposed  in  any  way  to  abandon  them,  still  less  that  I 
have  found  any  other  systems  of  ethics  or  theology 
more,  or  equally,  sound  and  self-consistent. 

I  wrote  the  "  Essay  on  the  Theory  of  Intuitive 
Morals"  between  my  thirtieth  and  thirty-third  years. 
I  had  a  great  deal  else  to  do  —  to  amuse  and  help  my 
father  (then  growing  old)  ;  to  direct  our  household, 
entertain  our  guests,  carry  on  the  feminine  corre- 
spondence of  the  family,  teach  in  my  village  school 
twice  a  week  or  so,  and  to  attend  every  case  of  illness 
or  other  tribulation  in  Donabate  and  Balisk.  My 
leisure  for  writing  and  for  the  preliminary  reading  for 
writing  was  principally  at  night  or  in  the  early  morn- 
ing ;  and  at  last  it  was  accomplished.  No  one  but  my 
dear  old  friend,  Harriet  St.  Leger,  had  seen  any  part 
of  the  MS.,  and,  as  I  have  said,  nobody  belonging 
to  my  family  had  ever  (so  far  as  I  know)  employed  a 
printer  or  publisher  before.  I  took  the  MS.  with  me 
to  London,  where  my  father  and  I  were  fortunately 
going  for  a  holiday,  and  called  with  it  in  Paternoster 
Row,  on   Mr.   William   Longman,  to   whom   I   had   a 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  99 

letter  of  business  introduction  from  my  Dublin  book- 
seller. When  I  opened  my  affair  to  Mr.  Longman,  it 
was  truly  a  case  of  Byron's  address  to  Murray  :  — 

"  To  thee  with  hope  and  terror  dumb, 
The  unfledged  MS.  authors  come  ; 
Thou  printest  all,  and  sellest  some, 

My  Murray!  " 

Mr.  Longman  politely  veiled  a  smile,  and  adopted  the 
voice  of  friendly  dissuasion  from  my  enterprise,  look- 
ing no  doubt  on  a  young  lady  (as  I  still  was)  as  a  very 
unpromising  author  for  a  treatise  on  Kantian  ethics  ! 
My  spirit,  however,  rose  with  the  challenge.  I  poured 
out  for  some  minutes  much  that  I  had  been  thinking 
over  for  years,  and  as  I  paused  at  last,  Mr.  Longman 
said  briefly,  but  decidedly,  "  I  HI  publish  your  book." 

After  this  fateful  interview,  I  remember  going  into 
St.  Paul's  and  sitting  there  a  long  while  alone. 

The  sheets  of  the  book  passed  rapidly  through  the 
press,  and  I  usually  took  them  to  the  British  Museum 
to  verify  quotations  and  work  quietly  over  difficulties, 
for  in  the  house  which  we  occupied  in  Connaught 
Square  I  had  no  study  to  myself.  The  foot-notes  to 
the  book  (collected  some  in  the  Museum,  some  from 
my  own  books,  and  some  from  old  works  in  Archbishop 
Marsh's  Library)  were  themselves  a  heavy  part  of  the 
work.  Glancing  over  the  pages  as  I  write,  I  see 
extracts  for  example,  from  the  following:  Cudworth 
(I  had  got  at  some  inedited  MSS.  of  his  in  the 
British  Museum),  Montesquieu,  Philo,  Hooker,  Proclus, 
Thomas  Aquinas,  Aristotle,  Descartes,  Miiller,  Whewell, 
Mozley,  Leibnitz,  St.  Augustine,  Phillipsohn,  Strabo, 
St.  Chrysostom,  Morell,  Lewes,  Dugald  Stewart,  Mill, 
Oersted,  the  Adee-Grunt'h  (sacred  book  of  the  Sikhs), 
Herbert  Spencer,  Hume,  Maximus  Tyriensis,  Institutes 
of  Menu,  Victor  Cousin,  Sir  William  Hamilton,  Lucian, 
Seneca,  Cory's  Fragments,  St.  Gregory  the  Great, 
Justin  Martyr,  Jeremy  Taylor,  the  Yajur  Veda,  Shaftes- 


100  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

bury,  Plato,  Marcus  Aurelius,  Diogenes  Laertius, 
Cicero,  Confucius,  and  many  more.  There  are  also  in 
the  Notes  sketches  of  the  history  of  the  doctrines  of 
Predestination  and  of  Original  Sin,  which  involved 
very  considerable  research. 

At  last  the  proofs  were  corrected,  the  Notes  verified, 
and  the  time  had  come  when  the  Preface  must  be 
written  !  How  was  I  to  find  a  quiet  hour  to  compose 
it  ?  Like  most  women  I  was  bound  hand  and  foot  by  a 
fine  web  of  little  duties  and  attentions,  which  men 
never  feel  or  brush  aside  remorselessly  (it  was  only 
Hooker,  who  rocked  a  cradle  with  his  foot  while  he 
wrote  the  Ecclesiastical  Polity !)  ;  and  it  was  a  serious 
question  for  me  when  I  could  find  leisure  and  solitude. 
Luckily,  just  on  the  critical  day,  my  father  was  seized 
with  a  fancy  to  go  to  the  play,  and,  equally  luckily,  I 
had  so  bad  a  cold  that  it  was  out  of  question  that  I 
should,  as  usual,  accompany  him.  Accordingly  I  had 
an  evening  all  alone,  and  wrote  fast  and  hard  the  pages 
which  I  shall  presently  quote,  finishing  the  last 
sentence  of  my  Preface  as  I  heard  my  father's  knock 
at  the  hall  door. 

I  had  all  along  told  my  father  (though,  alas  !  to  his 
displeasure),  that  I  was  going  to  publish  a  book ;  of 
course,  anonymously,  to  save  him  annoyance.  When 
the  printing  was  completed,  the  torn  and  defaced 
sheets  of  the  MS.  lay  together  in  a  heap  for  removal 
by  the  housemaid.  Pointing  to  this,  my  poor  father 
said  solemnly  to  me :  "  Don't  leave  those  about ;  you 
don't  know  into  whose  hands  they  may  fall"  It  was 
needless  to  observe  to  him  that  I  was  on  the  point  of 
publishing  the  "  perilous  stuff  !  " 

The  book  was  brought  out  by  Longmans  that  year 
(1855),  and  afterwards  by  Crosby  and  Nichols  in 
Boston,  and  again  by  Trubner  in  London.  It  was 
reviewed  rather  largely  and,  on  the  whole,  very  kindly, 
considering   it   was    by  an   unknown    and    altogether 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  101 

unfriended  author ;  but  sometimes  also  in  a  manner 
which  it  is  pleasant  to  know  has  gone  out  of  fashion 
in  these  latter  days.  It  was  amusing  to  see  that  not 
one  of  my  critics  had  a  suspicion  they  were  dealing 
with  a  woman's  work.  They  all  said,  "He  reasons 
clearly."  "His  spirit  and  manner  are  particularly 
well  suited  to  ethical  discussion."  "His  treatment  of 
morals  "  (said  the  "  Guardian  ")  "  is  often  both  true  and 
beautiful."  "  It  is  a  most  noble  performance  "  (said 
the  "  Caledonian  Mercury  "),  "  the  work  of  a  masculine 
and  lofty  mind."  "  It  is  impossible  "  (said  the  "  Scots- 
man") "to  deny  the  ability  of  the  writer  or  not  to 
admire  Ms  high  moral  tone,  his  earnestness,  and  the 
fulness  of  his  knowledge."  But  the  heresy  of  the 
book  brought  down  heavy  denunciation  from  the 
"  religious  "  papers  on  the  audacious  writer  who, 
"instead  of  walking  softly  and  humbly  on  the  firm 
ground  and  taking  the  Word  of  God  as  a  lamp,"  etc., 
had  indulged  in  "  insect  reasonings."  A  rumor  at  last 
went  out  that  a  woman  was  the  writer  of  this  "able 
and  attractive  but  deceptive  and  dangerous  work,"  and 
then  the  criticisms  were  barbed  with  sharper  teeth. 
"  The  writer  "  (says  the  "  Christian  Observer  "),  "  we  are 
told,  is   a  lady,  but  there   is  nothing   feeble  or   even 

feminine    in    the   tone   of  the  work Our 

dislike  is  increased  when  we  are  told  it  is  a  female  (!) 
who  has  propounded  so  unfeminine  and  stoical  a  theory 
.  .  .  .  and  has  contradicted  openly  the  true  sayings 
of  the  living  God  ! "  The  "  Guardian  "  (November  21st, 
1855)  finally  had  this  delightful  paragraph:  "The 
author  professes  great  admiration  for  Theodore  Parker 
and  Francis  Newman,  but  his  own  pages  are  not 
disfigured  by  the  arrogance  of  the  one  or  the  shallow 
levity  of  the  other "  (think  of  the  shallow  levity  of 
Newman's  book  of  the  "  Soul ! ").  He  writes  gravely  not 
defiantly,  as  befits  a  man  giving  utterance  to  thoughts 
which  he  knows  will  be  generally  regarded  as  impious" 


102  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

I  shall  now  offer  the  reader  a  few  extracts ;  and  first 
from  the  Preface :  — 

"  It  cannot  surely  be  questioned  but  that  we  want  a 
System  of  Morals  better  than  any  of  those  which  are 
current  amongst  us.  We  want  a  system  which  shall 
neither  be  too  shallow  for  the  requirements  of  thinking 
men,  nor  too  abstruse  for  popular  acceptation;  but 
which  shall  be  based  upon  the  ultimate  grounds  of  philo- 
sophy, and  be  developed  with  such  distinctness  as  to  be 
understood  by  every  one  capable  of  studying  the  subject. 
We  want  a  System  of  Morals  which  shall  not  entangle 
itself  with  sectarian  creeds,  nor  imperil  its  authority 
with  that  of  tottering  Churches,  but  which  shall  be 
indissolubly  blended  with  a  Theology  fulfilling  all  the 
demands  of  the  Religious  Sentiment  —  a  Theology  form- 
ing a  part,  and  the  one  living  part,  of  all  the  theologies 
which  ever  have  been  or  shall  be.  We  want  a  system 
which  shall  not  degrade  the  Law  of  the  Eternal  Right 
by  announcing  it  as  a  mere  contrivance  for  the  produc- 
tion of  human  happiness,  or  by  tracing  our  knowledge 
of  it  to  the  experience  of  the  senses,  or  by  cajoling  us 
into  obeying  it  as  a  matter  of  expediency  ;  but  a  system 
which  shall  ascribe  to  that  Law  its  own  sublime  office 
in  the  universe,  which  shall  recognize  in  man  the  facul- 
ties by  which  he  obtains  a  supersensible  knowledge  of 
it,  and  which  shall  inculcate  obedience  to  it  on  motives 
so  pure  and  holy,  that  the  mere  statement  of  them  shall 
awaken  in  every  breast  that  higher  and  better  self 
which  can  never  be  aroused  by  the  call  of  interest  or 
expediency. 

"  It  would  be  in  itself  a  presumption  for  me  to  dis- 
claim the  ability  necessary  for  supplying  such  a  want  as 
this.  In  writing  this  book,  I  have  aimed  chiefly  at  two 
objects.  First.  I  have  sought  to  unite  into  one  homo- 
geneous and  self-consistent  whole  the  purest  and  most 
enlarged  theories  hitherto  propounded  on  ethical  science. 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  103 

Especially  I  have  endeavored  to  popularize  those  of 
Kant,  by  giving  the  simplest  possible  presentation  to 
his  doctrines  regarding  the  Freedom  of  the  Will  and 
the  supersensible  source  of  our  knowledge  of  all  Neces- 
sary Truths,  including  those  of  Morals.  I  do  not  claim 
however,  even  so  far  as  regards  these  doctrines,  to  be  an 
exact  exponent  of  Kant's  opinions  ....  Secondly.  I 
have  sought  (and  this  has  been  my  chief  aim)  to  place 
for  the  first  time,  at  the  foundation  of  ethics,  the  great 
but  neglected  truth  that  the  end  of  Creation  is  not  the 
Happiness,  but  the  Virtue,  of  Kational  Souls.  I  believe 
that  this  truth  will  be  found  to  throw  most  valuable 
light,  not  only  upon  the  Theory,  but  upon  all  the  de- 
tails of  Practical  Morals.  Nay,  more,  I  believe  that  we 
must  look  to  it  for  such  a  solution  of  the  '  Riddle  of  the 
World '  as  shall  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  Intellect  while 
presenting  to  the  Religious  Sentiment  that  same  God  of 
perfect  Justice  and  Goodness  whose  ideal  it  intuitively 
conceives  and  spontaneously  adores.  Only  with  this 
view  of  the  Designs  of  God  can  we  understand  how  His 
Moral  attributes  are  consistent  with  the  creation  of  a 
race  which  is  indeed  (  groaning  in  sin  'and  '  travailing 
in  sorrow '  ;  but  by  whose  freedom  to  sin  and  trial  of 
sorrow  shall  be  worked  out  at  last  the  most  blessed  End 
which  Infinite  Love  could  desire.  With  this  clew  we 
shall  also  see  how  (as  the  Virtue  of  each  individual 
must  be  produced  by  himself,  and  is  the  share  com- 
mitted to  him  in  the  grand  end  of  creation)  all  Duties 
must  necessarily  range  themselves  accordingly  —  the 
Personal  before  the  Social  —  in  a  sequence  entirely 
different  from  that  which  is  conformable  with  the  hy- 
pothesis that  Happiness  is  '  our  being's  end  and  aim ' ; 
but  which  is,  nevertheless,  precisely  the  sequence  in 
which  Intuition  has  always  peremptorily  demanded  that 
they  should  be  arranged.  We  shall  see  how  (as  the  be- 
stowal of  Happiness  on  man  must  always  be  postponed 
by  God  to  the  still  more  blessed  aim  of  conducing  to 


104  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

his  Virtue)  the  greatest  outward  woes  and  trials,  so  far 
from  inspiring  us  with  doubts  of  His  Goodness,  must 
be  taken  as  evidences  of  the  glory  of  that  End  of  Vir- 
tue to  which  they  lead,  even  as  the  depth  of  the  foun- 
dations of  a  cathedral  may  show  how  high  the  towers 
and  spires  will  one  day  ascend."  — Pre/.,  pp.  v. -x. 

In  the  first  chapter  entitled  What  is  the  Moral  Law  ? 
I  take  for  motto  Antigone's  great  speech  :  — 

"  aypcLTrra  Kacr<f>aXr]  6ewv 
vofii/jLa  .... 

ov  yap  Tt  vvv  ye  Ka^^es,  aW  olcl  7tot€ 
t,fj  raOra,  KOuSeis  oTSev  c£  otov  'cfxivr]. 

2o<£.  'Amy.  454." 

I  begin  by  defining  Moral  actions  and  sentiments  as 
those  of  Rational  Free  Agents,  to  which  alone  may  be 
applied  the  terms  of  Right  or  Wrong,  Good  or  Evil, 
Virtuous  or  Vicious.     I  then  proceed  to  say  :  — 

"  This  moral  character  of  good  or  evil  is  a  real, 
universal,  and  eternal  distinction,  existing  through  all 
worlds  and  for  ever,  wherever  there  are  rational  crea- 
tures and  free  agents.  As  one  kind  of  line  is  a  straight 
line,  and  another  a  crooked  line,  and  as  no  line  can 
be  both  straight  and  crooked,  so  one  kind  of  action 
or  sentiment  is  right,  and  another  is  wrong,  and  no 
action  or  sentiment  can  be  both  right  or  wrong.  And 
as  the  same  line  which  is  straight  on  this  planet  would 
be  straight  in  Sirius  or  Alcyone,  and  what  constitutes 
straightness  in  the  nineteenth  century  will  constitute 
straightness  in  the  nineteenth  millennium,  so  that  sen- 
timent or  action  which  is  right  in  our  world  is  right 
in  all  worlds ;  and  that  which  constitutes  righteous, 
ness  now  will  constitute  righteousness  through  all  eter- 
nity. And  as  the  character  of  straightness  belongs 
to  the  line,  by  whatsoever  hand  it  may  have  been  traced, 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  105 

so  the  character  of  righteousness  belongs  to  the  sen- 
timent or  action,  by  what  rational  free  agent  soever 
it  may  have  been  felt  or  performed. 

"  And  of  this  distinction  language  affords  a  reliable 
exponent.  When  we  have  designated  one  kind  of 
figure  by  the  word  Circle,  and  another  by  the  word 
Triangle,  those  terms,  having  become  the  names  of  the 
respective  figures,  cannot  be  transposed  without  trans- 
gression of  the  laws  of  language.  Thus  it  would  be 
absurd  to  argue  that  the  figure  we  call  a  circle  may 
not  be  a  circle  ;  that  a  '  plane  figure,  containing  a  point 
from  which  all  right  lines  drawn  to  the  circumfer- 
ence shall  be  equal/  may  not  be  a  circle  but  a  trian- 
gle. In  like  manner,  when  we  have  designated  one 
kind  of  sentiment  or  action  as  Right,  and  another  as 
Wrong,  it  becomes  an  absurdity  to  say  that  the  kind 
of  sentiments  or  actions  we  call  Eight  may,  perhaps, 
be  Wrong.  If  a  figure  be  not  a  circle,  according  to 
our  sense  of  the  word,  it  is  not  a  circle  at  all,  but  an 
Ellipse,  a  Triangle,  Trapezium,  or  something  else.  If 
a  sentiment  or  action  be  not  Eight,  according  to  our 
sense  of  the  word,  it  is  not  Eight  at  all,  but  according 
to  the  laws  of  language  must  be  called  Wrong. 

"  It  is  not  maintained  that  we  can  commit  no  error 
in  affixing  the  name  of  Circle  to  a  particular  figure,  or 
of  Eight  to  a  particular  sentiment  or  action.  We  may 
at  a  hasty  glance  pronounce  an  ellipse  to  be  a  circle ; 
but  when  we  have  proved  the  radii  to  be  unequal,  needs 
must  we  arrive  at  a  better  judgment.  Our  error  was 
caused  by  our  first  haste  and  misjudgment,  not  by  our 
inability  to  decide  whether  an  object  presented  to  us 
bears  or  does  not  bear  a  character  to  which  we  have 
agreed  to  affix  a  certain  name.  In  like  manner,  from 
haste  or  prejudice,  we  may  pronounce  a  faulty  senti- 
ment or  action  to  be  Eight ;  but  when  we  have  examined 
it  in  all  its  bearings,  we  ourselves  are  the  first  to  call  it 
Wrong."  —  Pp.  4-7. 


106  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

After  milch,  more  on  the  positive  nature  of  Good,  and 
the  negative  nature  of  Evil  and  on  the  relation  of  the 
Moral  Law  to  God  as  impersonated  in  His  Will,  and  not 
the  result  (as  Ockham  taught)  of  his  arbitrary  decree, 
—  I  sum  up  the  argument  of  this  first  chapter.  To  the 
question,  What  is  the  Moral  Law  ?  I  answer  :  — 

"  The  Moral  Law  is  the  embodiment  of  the  eternal 
Necessary  obligation  of  all  Rational  Free  Agents  to 
do  and  feel  those  actions  and  sentiments  which  are 
Right.  The  identification  of  this  law  with  His  will 
constitutes  the  Holiness  of  the  infinite  God.  Voluntary 
and  disinterested  obedience  to  this  law  constitutes  the 
Virtue  of  all  finite  creatures.  Virtue  is  capable  of  in- 
finite growth,  of  endless  approach  to  the  Divine  nature, 
and  to  perfect  conformity  with  the  law.  God  has  made 
all  rational  free  agents  for  virtue,  and  (doubtless)  all 
worlds  for  rational  free  agents.  The  Moral  Law  there- 
fore, not  only  reigns  throughout  His  creation  (its  be- 
hests being  finally  enforced  therein  by  His  power),  but 
is  itself  the  reason  why  that  creation  exists.  The  ma- 
terial universe,  with  all  its  laws  and  all  the  events 
which  result  therefrom,  has  one  great  purpose  and  tends 
to  one  great  end.  It  is  that  end  which  infinite  Love 
has  designed,  and  which  infinite  Power  shall  surely  ac- 
complish, —  the  everlasting  approximation  of  all  created 
souls  to  Goodness  and  to  God."  —  Pp.  62,  63. 

The  second  chapter  undertakes  to  answer  the  ques- 
tion, Where  the  Moral  Law  is  Pound  ?  and  begins  by 
a  brief  analysis  of  the  two  great  classes  of  human 
knowledge  as  a  preliminary  to  ascertaining  to  which  of 
these  our  knowledge  of  ethics  belongs. 

"All  sciences  are  either  Exact  or  Physical  (or  are 
applications  of  Exact  to  Physical  science). 

"Exact  sciences  are  deduced  from  axiomatic  Neces- 
sary truths  and  result  in  universal  propositions,  each 
of  which  is  a  Necessary  truth. 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  107 

"Physical  sciences  are  induced  from  Experimental 
Contingent  truths,  and  result  in  General  Propositions, 
each  of  which  is  a  contingent  truth. 

"  We  obtain  our  knowledge  of  the  Experimental  Con- 
tingent Truths  from  which  Physical  science  is  induced, 
by  the  united  action  of  our  bodily  senses  and  of  our 
minds  themselves,  which  must  both  in  each  case  con- 
tribute their  proper  quota  to  make  knowledge  possible. 
Every  perception  necessitates  this  double  element  of 
sensation  and  intuition,  —  the  objective  and  subjective 
factor  in  combination. 

"  We  obtain  our  knowledge  of  the  axiomatic  Neces- 
sary Truths  from  which  Exact  science  is  deduced,  by 
the  a  priori  operation  of  the  mind  alone,  and  (quoad 
the  exact  science  in  question)  without  the  aid  of  sen- 
sation (not,  indeed,  by  a  priori  operation  of  a  mind 
which  has  never  worked  with  sensation,  for  such  a 
mind  would  be  altogether  barren ;  but  of  one  which 
has  reached  normal  development  under  normal  con- 
ditions ;  which  conditions  involve  the  continual  united 
action  productive  of  perceptions  of  contingent  truths). 

"In  this  distinction  between  the  sources  of  our 
knowledge  lies  the  most  important  discovery  of  philo- 
sophy. Into  whatsoever  knowledge  the  element  of 
Sensation  necessarily  enters  as  a  constituent  part, 
therein  there  can  be  no  absolute  certainty  of  truth ;  the 
fallibility  of  Sensation  being  recognized  on  all  hands, 
and  neutralizing  the  certainty  of  the  pure  mental  ele- 
ment. But  when  we  discover  an  order  of  sciences 
which,  without  aid  from  sensation,  are  deduced  by  the 
mind's  own  operation  from  those  Necessary  truths 
which  we  hold  on  a  tenure  marking  indelibly  their  dis- 
tinction from  all  contingent  truths  whatsoever,  then  we 
obtain  footing  in  a  new  realm.     .     .     . 

"  In  the  ensuing  pages  I  shall  endeavor  to  demon- 
strate that  the  science  of  Morals  belongs  to  the  class  of 
Exact  sciences,  and  that  it  has  consequently  a  right  to 


108  FBANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

that  credence  wherewith  we  hold  the  truths  of  arith- 
metic and  geometry.     .     .     ." 

The  test  which  divides  the  two  classes  is  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

"What  truth  soever  is  Necessary  and  of  universal 
extent  is  derived  by  the  mind  from  its  own  operation, 
and  does  not  rest  on  observation  or  experience ;  as,  con- 
versely, what  truth  or  perception  soever  is  present  to 
the  mind  with  a  consciousness,  not  of  its  Necessity,  but 
of  its  Contingency,  is  ascribable  not  to  the  original 
agency  of  the  mind  itself,  but  derives  its  origin  from 
observation  and  experience." 

After  lengthened  discussion  on  this  head  and  on  the 
supposed  mistakes  of  moral  intuition,  I  go  on  to  say :  — 

"  The  consciousness  of  the  Contingency,  or  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  Necessity  (i  e.,  the  consciousness 
that  the  truth  cannot  be  contingent,  but  must  hold  good 
in  all  worlds  forever),  these  consciousnesses  are  to  be 
relied  on,  for  they  have  their  origin  in,  and  are  the 
marks  of,  the  different  elements  from  which  they  have 
been  derived.1  We  may  apply  them  to  the  fundamen- 
tal truths  of  any  science,  and  by  observing  whether  the 
reception  of  such  truths  into  our  minds  be  accompanied 
by  the  consciousness  of  Necessity  or  of  Contingency, 
we  may  decide  whether  the  science  be  rightfully  Exact 
or  Physical,  deductive  or  inductive. 

"  For  example,  we  take  the  axioms  of  arithmetic  and 
geometry,  and  we  find  that  we  have  distinct  conscious- 

1  "It  is  a  fact  of  Consciousness  to  which  all  experience  bears  witness 
and  which  it  is  the  duty  of  the  philosopher  to  admit  and  account  for,  in- 
stead of  disguising  or  mutilating  it  to  suit  the  demands  of  a  system,  that 
there  are  certain  truths  which  when  once  acquired,  no  matter  how,  it  is 
impossible  by  any  effort  of  thought  to  conceive  as  reversed  or  reversible." 
—  Hansel's  Metaphysics,  p.  248. 


MY  FIRST  BOOK  109 

ness  that  they  are  Necessary  truths.  We  cannot  con- 
ceive them  altered  anywhere  or  at  any  time.  The 
sciences  which  are  deduced  from  these  and  from  similar 
axioms  are  then  Exact  sciences. 

"  Again :  we  take  the  ultimate  facts  of  geology  and 
anatomy,  and  we  find  that  we  have  distinct  conscious- 
ness that  they  are  Contingent  truths.  We  can  readily 
suppose  them  other  than  we  find  them.  The  sciences, 
then,  which  are  induced  from  these  and  similar  facts 
are  not  Exact  sciences. 

"  If,  then,  morals  can  be  shown  to  bear  this  test 
equally  with  mathematics,  —  if  there  be  any  fundamen- 
tal truths  of  morals  holding  in  our  minds  the  status  of 
those  axioms  of  geometry  and  arithemetic  of  whose 
Necessity  we  are  conscious,  then  these  fundamental 
truths  of  morals  are  entitled  to  be  made  the  basis  of 
an  Exact  science  the  subsequent  theorems  of  which 
must  all  be  deduced  from  them.  —  P.  76. 

"  Men  like  Hume  traverse  the  history  of  our  race,  to 
collect  all  the  piteous  instances  of  aberrations  which 
have  resulted  from  neglect  or  imperfect  study  of  the 
moral  consciousness  ;  and  then  they  cry,  '  Behold  what 
it  teaches ! '  Yet  I  suppose  that  it  will  be  admitted 
that  Man  is  an  animal  capable  of  knowing  geometry ; 
though,  if  we  were  to  go  up  and  down  the  world,  ask- 
ing rich  and  poor,  Englishman  and  Esquimau,  what 
are  the  ratios  of  solidity  and  superficies  of  a  sphere,  a 
right  cylinder,  and  an  equilateral  cone  circumscribed 
about  it,  there  are  sundry  chances  that  we  should  hear 
of  other  ratios  besides  the  sesquialterate. 

"  He  who  should  argue  that,  because  people  ignorant 
of  geometry  did  not  know  the  sesquialterate  ratio  of 
the  sphere,  cylinder,  and  cone,  therefore  no  man  could 
know  it,  or  that  because  they  disputed  it,  that  there- 
fore it  was  uncertain,  would  argue  no  more  absurdly 
than  he  who  urges  the  divergencies  of  half  civilized 
and  barbarian  nations  as  a  reason  why  no  man  could 


HO  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

know,  or  know  with  certainty,  the  higher  propositions 
of  morals." 

After  analyzing  the  Utilitarian  and  other  theories 
which  derive  Morality  from  Contingent  truths,  I  con- 
clude that  "  the  truths  of  Morals  are  Necessary  truths. 
The  origin  of  our  knowledge  of  them  is  Intuitive,  and 
their  proper  treatment  is  Deductive." 

The  third  Chapter  treats  of  the  proposition,  "That 
the  Moral  Law  can  be  obeyed,"  and  discusses  the  doc- 
trine of  Kant,  that  the  true  self  of  Man,  the  Homo 
Noumenon,  is  free,  self-legislative  of  Law  fit  for  Law 
Universal ;  while  as  the  Homo  Phenomenon,  an  inhabi- 
tant of  the  world  of  sense,  he  is  a  mere  link  in  the 
chain  of  causes  and  effects,  and  his  actions  are  locked 
up  in  mechanic  laws  which,  had  he  no  other  rank, 
would  ensue  exactly  according  to  the  physical  impulses 
given  by  the  instincts  and  solicitations  in  the  sensory. 
But  as  an  inhabitant  (also)  of  the  supersensitive  world 
his  position  is  among  the  causalities  which  taking  their 
rise  therein,  are  the  ultimate  ground  of  phenomena. 
The  discussion  in  this  chapter  on  the  above  proposition 
cannot  be  condensed  into  any  space  admissible  here. 

The  fourth  Chapter  seeks  to  determine  "Why  the 
Moral  Law  should  be  Obeyed."     It  begins  thus  :  — 

"  In  the  last  Chapter  (Chapter  III.)  I  endeavored  to 
demonstrate  that  the  pure  Will,  the  true  self  of  man,  is 
by  nature  righteous  ;  self-legislative  of  the  only  Univer- 
sal Law,  viz.,  the  Moral ;  and  that  by  this  spontaneous 
autonomy  would  all  his  actions  be  squared,  were  it 
not  for  his  lower  nature,  which  is  by  its  constitution 
unmoral,  neither  righteous  nor  unrighteous,  but  cap- 
able only  of  determining  its  choice  by  its  instinctive 
propensities  and  the  gratifications  offered  to  them.  Thus 
these  two  are  contrary  one  to  another,  '  and  the  spirit 
lusteth  against  the  flesh,  and  the  flesh  against  the 
spirit.'     In  the  valor  of  the  higher  nature  acquired  by 


MY  FIEST  BOOK.  Ill 

its  victory  over  the  lower,  in  the  virtue  of  the  tried  and 
conquering  soul,  we  look  for  the  glorious  end  of  crea- 
tion, the  sublime  result  contemplated  by  Infinite  Benev- 
olence in  calling  man  into  existence  and  fitting  him  with 
the  complicated  nature  capable  of  developing  that  Virtue 
which  alone  can  be  the  crown  of  infinite  intelligences. 
The  great  practical  problem  of  human  life  is  this  : 
'  How  is  the  Moral  Will  to  gain  the  victory  over  the 
unmoral  instincts,  the  Homo  Noumenon  over  the  Homo 
Phenomenon,  Michael  over  the  Evil  One,  Mithras  over 
Hyle  ? '  " 

In  pursuing  this  inquiry  of  how  the  Moral  Will  is  to 
be  rendered  victorious,  I  am  led  back  to  the  question : 
Is  Happiness  "  our  end  and  aim  ? "  What  relation 
does  it  bear  to  Morality  as  a  motive  ? 

"  I  have  already  argued,  in  Chapter  I.,  that  Happi- 
ness, properly  speaking,  is  the  gratification  of  all  the 
desires  of  our  compound  nature,  and  that  moral,  intel- 
lectual, affectional,  and  sensual  pleasures  are  all  to  be 
considered  as  integers,  whose  sum,  when  complete, 
would  constitute  perfect  Happiness.  From  this  multi- 
form nature  of  Happiness  it  has  arisen,  that  those  sys- 
tems of  ethics  which  set  it  forth  as  the  proper  motive 
of  Virtue  have  differed  immensely  from  one  another, 
according  as  the  Happiness  they  respectively  contem- 
plated was  thought  of  as  consisting  in  the  pleasures  of 
our  Moral,  or  of  our  Intellectual,  Affectional,  and  Sen- 
sual natures  ;  whether  the  pleasures  were  to  be  sought 
by  the  virtuous  man  for  his  own  enjoyment,  or  for  the 
general  happiness  of  the  community. 

"  The  pursuit  of  Virtue  for  the  sake  of  its  intrinsic,  i. 
e.,  Moral  pleasure,  is  designated  Euthumism. 

"  The  pursuit  of  Virtue  for  the  sake  of  the  extrinsic 
Affectional,  Intellectual,  and  Sensual  pleasure  resulting 
from  it,  is  designated  Eudaimonism. 

"  Euthumism  is  of  one  kind  only,  for  the  individual 
can  only  seek  the  intrinsic  pleasure  of  Virtue  for  his 
own  enjoyment  thereof. 


112  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

"  Eudaimonisin,  on  the  contrary,  is  of  two  most 
distinct  kinds.  That  which  I  have  called  Public  Eu- 
daimonism  sets  forth  the  intellectual,  affectional,  and 
sensual  pleasures  of  all  mankind  as  the  proper  object 
of  the  Virtue  of  each  individual.  Private  Eudai- 
monism  sets  forth  the  same  pleasures  of  the  individual 
himself  as  the  proper  object  of  his  Virtue. 

"  These  two  latter  systems  are  commonly  confounded 
under  the  name  of  '  Utilitarian  Ethics.'  Their 
principles,  as  I  have  stated  them,  will  be  seen  to  be 
wide  asunder ;  yet  there  are  few  of  the  advocates  of 
either  who  have  not  endeavored  to  stand  on  the  grounds 
of  both,  and  even  to  borrow  elevation  from  those  of  the 
Euthumist.  Thus,  by  appealing  alternately  to  philan- 
thropy *  and  to  a  gross  and  a  refined  Selfishness,  they 
suit  the  purpose  of  the  moment,  and  prevent  their 
scheme  from  deviating  too  far  from  the  intuitive  con- 
science of  mankind.  It  may  be  remarked  also,  that  the 
Private  Eudaimonists  insist  more  particularly  on  the 
pleasures  of  a  Future  Life;  and  in  the  exposition  of 
them  necessarily  approach  nearer  to  the  Euthumists." 

I  here  proceeded  to  discuss  the  three  systems  which 
have  arisen  from  the  above-defined  different  views  of 
Happiness,  each  contemplating  it  as  the  proper  motive 
of  Virtue :  namely,  1st,  Euthumism ;  2d,  Public  Eudai- 
monisin ;  and  3d,  Private  Eudaimonisin. 

"1st.  Euthumism.  This  system,  as  I  have  said,  sets 
forth  the  Moral  Pleasure,  the  peace  and  cheerfulness  of 
mind,  and  applause  of  conscience  enjoyed  in  Virtue,  as 
the  proper  motive  for  its  practice.  Conversely,  it  sets 
forth  as  the  dissuadent  from  Vice,  the  pain  of  remorse, 
the  inward  uneasiness  and  self-contempt  which  belong 
to  it. 

"  Democritus  appears  to  have  been  the  first  who  gave 
•clear  utterance  to  this  doctrine,  maintaining  that  Evtfv/xia 
was  the  proper  End  of  human  actions,  and  sharply  dis- 
l  We  should  now  say  Altruism. 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  113 

languishing  it  from  the  '  E.8ovrj  proposed  as  such  by 
Aristippus.  The  claims  of  a  '  mens  conscia  recti '  to  be 
the  '  Summum  Bonum,'  occupied,  as  is  well  known,  a 
large  portion  of  the  subsequent  disputes  of  the  Epicur- 
eans, Cynics,  Stoics,  and  Academics,  and  were  eagerly 
argued  by  Cicero,  and  even  down  to  the  time  of  Boe- 
thius.  Many  of  these  sects,  however,  and  in  particular 
the  Stoics,  though  maintaining  that  Virtue  alone  is 
sufficient  for  Happiness  (that  is,  that  the  inward  joy  of 
Virtue  is  enough  to  constitute  Happiness  in  the  midst 
of  torments),  yet  by  no  means  set  forth  that  Happiness 
as  the  sole  motive  of  Virtue.  They  held,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  noblest  ideas  of  *  living  according  to  Nature,' 
that  is,  as  Chrysippus  explained  it,  according  to  the 
'  Nature  of  the  universe  the  common  Law  of  all,  which 
is  the  right  reason  spread  everywhere,  the  same  by 
which  Jupiter  governs  the  world  ; '  and  that  both  Vir- 
tue and  Happiness  consisted  in  so  regulating  our  actions 
that  they  should  produce  harmony  between  the  Spirit 
in  each  of  us  and  the  Will  of  Him  who  rules  the  uni- 
verse. There  is  little  or  no  trace  of  Euthuniism  in  the 
Jewish  or  Christian  Scriptures,  or  (to  my  knowledge) 
in  the  sacred  books  of  the  Brahmins,  Buddhists,  or  Par- 
sees.  The  ethical  problems  argued  by  the  mediaeval 
Schoolmen  do  not,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  embrace  the 
subject  in  question.  The  doctrine  was  revived,  however, 
in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  beside  blending  with 
more  or  less  distinctness  with  the  views  of  a  vast  num- 
ber of  lesser  moralists,  it  reckons  among  its  professed 
adherents  no  less  names  than  Henry  More  and  Bishop 
Cumberland.  Euthuniism,  philosophically  considered, 
will  be  found  to  affix  itself  most  properly  on  the  doc- 
trine of  the  '  Moral  Sense '  laid  down  by  Shaftesbury  as 
the  origin  of  our  knowledge  of  moral  distinctions,  which, 
if  it  were,  it  would  naturally  follow  that  it  must  afford 
also  the  right  motive  of  Virtue.  Hutcheson,  also,  still 
more  distinctly  stated  that  this  Moral  Pleasure  in  Vir- 


114  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

tue  (which  both  he  and  Shaftesbury  likened  to  the 
aesthetic  Pleasure  in  Beauty)  was  the  true  ground  of 
our  choice.  To  this  Balguy  replied,  that  '  to  make  the 
rectitude  of  moral  actions  depend  upon  instinct,  and,  in 
proportion  to  the  warmth  and  strength  of  the  Moral 
Sense,  rise  and  fall  like  spirits  in  a  thermometer,  is  depre- 
ciating the  most  sacred  thing  in  the  world,  and  almost 
exposing  it  to  ridicule.'  And  Whewell  has  shown  that 
the  doctrine  of  the  Moral  Sense  as  the  foundation  of 
Morals  must  always  fail,  whether  understood  as  mean- 
ing a  sense  like  that  of  Beauty  (which  may  or  may  not 
be  merely  a  modification  of  the  Agreeable),  or  a  sense 
like  those  of  Touch  or  Taste  (which  no  one  can  fairly 
maintain  that  any  of  our  moral  perceptions  really 
resemble). 

"  But,  though  neither  the  true  source  of  our  Know- 
ledge of  Moral  Distinctions,  nor  yet  the  right  Motive 
why  we  are  to  choose  the  Good,  this  Moral  Sense  of 
Pleasure  in  Virtue,  and  Pain  in  Vice,  is  a  psychologi- 
cal fact  demanding  the  investigation  of  the  Moralist. 
Moreover,  the  error  of  allowing  our  moral  choice  to  be 
decided  by  a  regard  to  the  pure  joy  of  Virtue  or  awful 
pangs  of  self-condemnation,  is  an  error  so  venial  in  com- 
parison of  other  moral  heresies,  and  so  easily  to  be  con- 
founded with  a  truer  principle  of  Morals,  that  it  is 
particularly  necessary  to  warn  generous  natures  against 
it.  '  It  is  quite  beyond  the  grasp  of  human  thought,' 
says  Kant,  '  to  explain  how  reason  can  be  practical ; 
how  the  mere  Morality  of  the  law,  independently  of 
every  object  man  can  be  interested  in,  can  itself  beget 
an  interest  which  is  purely  Ethical;  how  a  naked 
thought,  containing  in  it  nothing  of  the  sensory,  can 
bring  forth  an  emotion  of  pleasure  or  pain.' 

"  Unconsciously  this  Sense  of  Pleasure  in  a  Virtuous 
Act,  the  thought  of  the  peace  of  conscience  which  will 
follow  it,  or  the  dread  of  remorse  for  its  neglect,  must 
mingle  with  our  motives.     But  we  can  never  be  per- 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  115 

mitted  consciously  to  exhibit  them  to  ourselves  as  the 
ground  of  our  resolution  to  obey  the  Law.  That  Law  is 
not  valid  for  man  because  it  interests  him,  but  it  inter- 
ests him  because  it  has  validity  for  him  —  because  it 
springs  from  his  true  being,  his  proper  self.  The  inter- 
est he  feels  is  an  Effect,  not  a  Cause ;  a  Contingency, 
not  a  Necessity.  Were  he  to  obey  the  Law  merely  from 
this  Interest,  it  would  not  be  free  Self-legislation  (au- 
tonomy), but  (heteronomy)  subservience  of  the  Pure 
Will  to  a  lower  faculty  —  a  Sense  of  Pleasure.  And, 
practically,  we  may  perceive  that  all  manner  of  mis- 
chiefs and  absurdities  must  arise  if  a  man  set  forth 
Moral  Pleasure  as  the  determinator  of  his  Will.     .    .    . 

"  Thus,  the  maxim  of  Euthumism,  '  Be  virtuous  for  the 
sake  of  the  Moral  Pleasure  of  Virtue,''  may  be  pronounced 
false. 

"2d.  Public  Eudaimonism  sets  forth,  both  as  the 
ground  of  our  knowledge  of  Virtue  and  the  motive  for 
our  practice  of  it,  '  The  Greatest  Happiness  of  the 
Greatest  Number.''  This  Happiness,  as  Paley  understood 
it,  is  composed  of  Pleasures  to  be  estimated  only  by 
their  Intensity  and  Duration  ;  or,  as  Bentham  added,  by 
their  Certainty,  Propinquity,  Fecundity,  and  Purity  (or 
freedom  from  admixture  of  evil). 

"  Let  it  be  granted  for  argument's  sake,  that  the  cal- 
culable Happiness  resulting  from  actions  can  determine 
their  Virtue  (although  all  experience  teaches  that  result- 
ing Happiness  is  not  calculable,  and  that  the  Virtue 
must  at  least  be  one  of  the  items  determining  the  result- 
ing Happiness).  On  the  Utilitarian's  own  assumption, 
what  sort  of  motive  for  Virtue  can  be  his  end  of  '  Thb 
Greatest  Happiness  of  the  Greatest  Number  ?  ' 

"  No  sooner  had  Paley  laid  down  the  grand  principle 
of  his  system,  '  Whatever  is  Expedient  is  Right,''  than 
he  proceeds  (as  he  thinks)  to  guard  against  its  malappli- 
cation  by  arguing  that  nothing  is  expedient  which  pro- 
duces, along  with  particular  good  consequences,  general 


116  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

bad  ones,  and  that  this  is  done  by  the  violation  of  any- 
general  rule,  '  You  cannot,'  says  he,  '  permit  one  action 
and  forbid  another  without  showing  a  difference  between 
them.  Consequently  the  same  sort  of  actions  must  be 
generally  permitted  or  generally  forbidden.  Where, 
therefore,  the  general  permission  of  them  would  be  per- 
nicious, it  becomes  necessary  to  lay  down  and  support 
the  rule  which  generally  forbids  them.' 

"Now,  let  the  number  of  experienced  consequences 
of  actions  be  ever  so  great,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the 
Inductions  we  draw  therefrom  can,  at  the  utmost,  be 
only  provisional,  and  subject  to  revision  should  new  facts 
be  brought  in  to  bear  in  an  opposite  scale.     .     .     . 

"  Further,  the  rules  induced  from  experience  must  be 
not  only  provisional,  but  partial.  The  lax  term  '  gen- 
eral '  misleads  us.  A  Moral  Rule  must  be  either  uni- 
versal and  open  to  no  exception,  or,  properly  speaking, 
no  rule  at  all.     Each  case  of  Morals  stands  alone. 

"  Thus,  the  Experimentalist's  conclusion,  for  example, 
that  '  Lying  does  more  harm  than  good,'  may  be  quite 
remodelled  by  the  fortunate  discovery  of  so  prudent  a 
kind  of  falsification  as  shall  obviate  the  mischief  and 
leave  the  advantage.  No  doubt  can  remain  on  the  mind 
of  any  student  of  Paley,  that  this  would  have  been  his 
own  line  of  argument :  '  If  we  can  only  prove  that  a  lie 
be  expedient,  then  it  becomes  a  duty  to  lie.'  As  he  says 
himself  of  the  rule  (which  if  any  rule  may  do  so  may 
surely  claim  to  be  general),  '  Do  not  do  evil  that  good 
may  come,'  that  it  is  '  salutary,  for  the  most  part,  the 
advantage  seldom  compensating  for  the  violation  of  the 
rule.'  So  to  do  evil  is  sometimes  salutary,  and  does  now 
and  then  compensate  for  disregarding  even  the  Eudai- 
monist's  last  resource  —  a  General  Rule  ! 

"  3d.  Private  Eudaimonism.  There  are  several  form- 
ulas, in  which  this  system  (the  lowest,  but  the  most  lo- 
gical, of  Moral  heresies)  is  embodied.  Rutherford  puts 
it  thus  :  '  Every  man's  Happiness  is  the  ultimate  end 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  117 

which  Keason  teaches  him  to  pursue,  and  the  constant 
and  uniform  practice  of  Virtue  towards  all  mankind 
becomes  our  duty,  when  Eevelation  has  informed  us 
that  God  will  make  us  finally  happy  in  a  life  after  this.' 
Paley  (who  properly  belongs  to  this  school,  but  endea- 
vors frequently  to  seat  himself  on  the  corners  of  the 
stools  of  Euthumism  and  Public  Eudaimonism),  Paley, 
the  standard  Moralist  of  England,1  defines  Virtue  thus  : 
'  Virtue  is  the  doing  good  to  mankind  in  obedience  to  the 
will  of  God  and  for  the  sake  of  Everlasting  Haj)piness. 
According  to  which  definition,  the  good  of  mankind  is 
the  subject ;  the  will  of  God  the  rule  ;  and  Everlasting 
Happiness  the  motive  of  Virtue.' 

"  Yet  it  seems  to  me,  that  if  there  be  any  one  truth 
which  intuition  does  teach  us  more  clearly  than  another, 
it  is  precisely  this  one  —  that  Virtue  to  be  Virtue  must 
be  disinterested.  The  moment  we  picture  any  species  of 
reward  becoming  the  bait  of  our  Morality,  that  moment 
we  see  the  holy  flame  of  Virtue  annihilated  in  the  nox- 
ious gas.  A  man  is  not  Virtuous  at  all  who  is  honest 
because  it  is  '  good  policy,'  beneficent  from  love  of  ap- 
probation, pious  for  the  sake  of  heaven.  All  this  is  pru- 
dence, not  virtue,  selfishness,  not  self-sacrifice.  If  he  be 
honest  for  the  sake  of  policy,  would  he  be  dishonest  if 
it  could  be  proved  that  it  were  more  politic  ?  If  he 
would  not,  then  he  is  not  really  honest  from  policy  but 
from  some  deeper  principle  thrust  into  the  background 
of  his  consciousness.  If  he  would,  then  it  is  idlest 
mockery  to  call  that  honesty  Virtuous  which  only  waits 
a  bribe  to  become  dishonest. 

"  But  there  are  many  Eudaimonists  who  will  be  ready 
to  acknowledge  that  a  prudent  postponement  of  our 
happiness  in  this  world  cannot  constitute  virtue.  But 
wherefore  do  they  say  we  are  to  postpone  it  ?  Not  for 
present  pleasure  or  pain,  that  would  be  base  ;  but  for 

i  I  am  thankful  to  believe  that  he  would  be  no  longer  accorded  such  a 
rank  in  1890  as  in  1850  ! 


118  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

that  anticipation  of  future  pleasure  or  pain  which  we 
call  Hope  and  Fear.  And  this,  not  for  the  Hope  and 
Fear  of  this  world,  which  are  still  admitted  to  be  base 
motives ;  but  for  Hope  and  Fear  extended  one  step 
beyond  the  tomb  —  the  Hope  of  Heaven  and  the  Fear 
of  Hell." 

After  a  general  glance  at  the  doctrine  of  Future 
Kewards  and  Punishments  as  held  by  Christians  and 
heathens,  I  go  on  to  argue  :  — 

"  But  in  truth  this  doctrine  of  the  Hope  of  Heaven 
being  the  true  Motive  of  Virtue  is  (at  least  in  theory) 
just  as  destructive  of  Virtue  as  that  which  makes  the 
rewards  of  this  life  —  health,  wealth,  or  reputation  — 
the  motive  of  it.     Well  says  brave  Kingsley :  — 

'  Is  selfishness  for  time  a  sin, 
Stretched  out  into  eternity  celestial  prudence  ?  ' 

"  If  to  act  for  a  small  reward  cannot  be  virtuous,  to 
act  for  a  large  one  can  certainly  merit  no  more.  To  be 
bribed  by  a  guinea  is  surely  no  better  than  to  be  bribed 
by  a  penny.  To  be  deterred  from  ruin  by  fear  of  trans- 
portation for  life  is  no  more  noble  than  to  be  deterred 
by  fear  of  twenty-four  hours  in  prison.  There  is  no  use 
multiplying  illustrations.  He  who  can  think  that  Vir- 
tue is  the  doing  right  for  pay,  may  think  himself  very 
judicious  to  leave  his  pay  in  the  savings-bank  now  and 
come  into  a  fortune  all  at  once  by  and  by  ;  but  he  who 
thinks  that  Virtue  is  the  doing  right  for  Eight's  own 
sake,  cannot  possibly  draw  a  distinction  between  small 
bribes  and  large  ones  ;  a  reward  to  be  given  to-day,  and 
a  reward  to  be  given  in  eternity. 

"  Nevertheless  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  belief  in 
immortal  progress  is  of  incalculable  value.  Such  belief, 
and  that  in  an  ever-present  God,  may  be  called  the  two 
wings  of  human  Virtue.  I  look  on  the  advantages  of  a 
faith  in  immortality  to  be  two-fold.     First,  it  cuts  the 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  119 

knot  of  the  world,  and  gives  to  our  apprehension  a  God 
whose  providence  need  no  longer  perplex  us,  and  whose 
immeasurable  and  never-ending  goodness  shines  ever 
brighter  before  our  contemplating  souls.  Secondly,  it 
gives  an  importance  to  personal  progress  which  we  can 
hardly  attribute  to  it  so  long  as  we  deem  it  is  to  be 
arrested  forever  by  death.  The  man  who  does  not 
believe  in  Immortality  may  be,  and  often  actually  is, 
more  virtuous  than  his  neighbor ;  and  it  is  quite  certain 
that  his  Virtue  is  of  far  purer  character  than  that  which 
bargains  for  Heaven  as  its  pay.  But  his  task  is  a  very 
hard  one,  a  task  without  a  result ;  and  his  road  a  dreary 
one,  unenlightened  even  by  the  distant  dawn  of 

'That  great  world  of  light  which  lies 
Behind  all  human  destinies.' 

We  can  scarcely  do  him  better  service  than  by  leading 
him  to  trust  that  intuition  of  Immortality  which  is  writ- 
ten in  the  heart  of  the  human  race  by  that  Hand  which 
writes  no  falsehoods. 

"  But  if  the  attainment  of  Heaven  be  no  true  motive 
for  the  pursuit  of  Virtue,  surely  I  may  be  held  excused 
from  denouncing  that  practice  of  holding  out  the  fear  of 
Hell  wherewith  many  fill  up  the  measure  of  moral  de- 
gradation ?  Here  it  is  vain  to  suppose  that  the  fear  is 
that  of  the  immortality  of  sin  and  banishment  from 
God ;  as  we  are  sometimes  told  the  hope  of  Heaven  is 
that  of  an  immortality  of  Virtue  and  union  with  Him. 
The  mind  which  sinks  to  the  debasement  of  any  Fear  is 
already  below  the  level  at  which  sin  and  estrangement 
are  terrors.  It  is  his  weakness  of  will  which  alone 
hinders  the  Prodigal  from  saying,  '  I  will  arise  and  go 
to  my  Father,'  and  unless  we  can  strengthen  that  Will 
by  some  different  motive,  it  is  idle  to  threaten  him  with 
its  own  persistence. 

"  Returning  from  the  contemplation  of  the  lowness  of 
aim  common  to  all  the  forms   of  Eudaimonism,  how 


120  FEANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

magnificent  seems  the  grand  and  holy  doctrine  of  true 
Intuitive  Morality  ?  Do  Right  for  the  Right's  own 
sake  :  Love  God  and  Goodness  because  they  are  Good ! 
The  soul  seems  to  awake  from  death  at  such  archangel's 
call  as  this,  and  mortal  man  puts  on  his  rightful  immor- 
tality. The  prodigal  grovels  no  longer,  seeking  for 
Happiness  amid  the  husks  of  pleasure ;  but,  '  coming  to 
himself,'  he  arises  and  goes  to  his  Father,  heedless  if  it 
be  but  as  the  lowest  of  His  servants  he  may  yet  dwell 
beneath  that  Father's  smile.  Hope  and  fear  for  this  life 
or  the  next,  mercenary  bargainings,  and  labor  of  eye- 
service,  all  are  at  end.  He  is  a  Free-man,  and  free  shall 
be  the  oblation  of  his  soul  and  body,  the  reasonable, 
holy,  and  acceptable  sacrifice. 

"  0  Living  Soul !  wilt  thou  follow  that  mighty  hand, 
and  obey  that  summons  of  the  trumpet  ?  Perchance 
thou  hast  reached  life's  solemn  noon,  and  with  the 
bright  hues  of  thy  morning  have  faded  away  the  beau- 
tiful aspirations  of  thy  youth.  Doubtless  thou  hast 
often  struggled  for  the  Right ;  but,  weary  with  frequent 
overthrows,  thou  criest,  '  This  also  is  vanity. '  But 
think  again,  0  Soul,  whose  sun  shall  never  set !  Have 
no  poor  and  selfish  ambitions  mingled  with  those 
struggles  and  made  them  vanity  ?  Have  no  theologic 
dogmas  from  which  thy  maturer  reason  revolts,  been 
blended  with  thy  purer  principle  ?  Hast  thou  nour- 
ished no  extravagant  hope  of  becoming  suddenly  sinless, 
or  of  heaping  up  with  an  hour's  labor  a  mountain  of 
benefits  on  thy  race  ?  Surely  some  mistake  like  these 
lies  at  the  root  of  all  moral  discouragement.  But 
mark :  — 

"  Pure  Morals  forbid  all  base  and  selfish  motives  — 
all  happiness-seeking,  fame-seeking,  love-seeking  —  in 
this  world  or  the  next,  as  motives  of  Virtue.  Pure 
Morals  rest  not  on  any  traditional  dogma,  not  on  his- 
tory, on  philology,  on  criticism,  but  on  those  intuitions, 
clear  as  the  axioms  of  geometry,  which  thine  own  soul 


MY  FIRST  BOOK.  121 

finds  in  its  depths,  and  knows  to  be  necessary  truths, 
which,  short  of  madness,  it  cannot  disbelieve. 

"  Pure  Morals  offer  no  panacea  to  cure  in  a  moment 
all  the  diseases  of  the  human  heart,  and  transform  the 
sinner  into  the  saint.  They  teach  that  the  passions, 
which  are  the  machinery  of  our  moral  life,  are  not  to  be 
miraculously  annihilated,  but  by  slow  and  unwearying 
endeavor  to  be  brought  into  obedience  to  the  Holy 
Will ;  while  to  fall  and  rise  again  many  a  time  in  the 
path  of  virtue  is  the  inevitable  lot  of  every  pilgrim 
therein.  .  .  .  Our  hearts  burn  within  us  when  for 
a  moment  the  vision  rises  before  our  sight  of  what  we 
might  make  our  life  even  here  upon  earth.  Faintly  can. 
any  words  picture  that  vision  ! 

"  A  life  of  Benevolence,  in  which  every  word  of  our 
lips,  every  work  of  our  hands,  had  been  a  contribution 
to  human  virtue  or  human  happiness  ;  a  life  in  which, 
ever  wider  and  warmer  through  its  threescore  years  and 
ten,  had  grown  our  pure,  unwavering,  Godlike  Love,  till 
we  had  spread  the  same  philanthropy  through  a  thou- 
sand hearts  ere  we  passed  away  from  earth  to  love  yet 
better  still  our  brethren  in  the  sky. 

"  A  life  of  Personal  Virtue,  in  which  every  evil  dis- 
position had  been  trampled  down,  every  noble  sentiment 
called  forth  and  strengthened ;  a  life  in  which,  leaving 
day  by  day  further  behind  us  the  pollutions  of  sin,  we 
had  also  ascended  daily  to  fresh  heights  of  purity,  till 
self-conquest,  unceasingly  achieved,  became  continually 
more  secure  and  more  complete,  and  at  last,  — 

'The  lordly  Will  o'er  its  subject  powers 
Like  a  throned  God  prevailed,' 

and  we  could  look  back  upon  the  great  task  of  earth, 
and  say,  '  It  is  finished ! ' 

"  A  life  of  Religion,  in  which  the  delight  in  God's 
presence,  the  reverence  for  His  moral  attributes,  the 
desire  to  obey  His  Will,  and  the  consciousness  of  His 
everlasting   love,    had   grown   continually   clearer  and 


122  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

stronger,  and  of  which  Prayer,  deepest  and  intensest, 
had  been  the  very  heart  and  nucleus,  till  we  had  found 
God  drawing  ever  nearer  to  us  as  we  drew  near  to  him, 
and  vouchsafing  to  us  a  communion  the  bliss  of  which 
no  human  speech  may  ever  tell ;  the  dawning  of  that 
day  of  adoration  which  shall  grow  brighter  and  brighter 
still  while  all  the  clusters  of  the  suns  fade  out  and 
die. 

"And  turning  from  our  own  destiny,  from  the  end- 
less career  opened  to  our  Benevolence,  our  Personal 
Virtue,  and  our  Piety,  we  take  in  a  yet  broader  view, 
and  behold  the  whole  universe  of  God  mapped  out  in  one 
stupendous  Plan  of  Love.  In  the  abyss  of  the  past 
eternity  we  see  the  Creator  for  ever  designing  and  for 
ever  accomplishing  the  supreniest  end  at  which  infinite 
Justice  and  Goodness  could  aim,  and  absolute  Wisdom 
and  Power  bring  to  pass.  Por  this  end,  for  the  Virtue 
of  all  finite  Intelligences,  we  behold  Him  building  up 
millions  of  starry  abodes  and  peopling  them  with  immor- 
tal spirits  clothed  in  the  garbs  of  flesh,  and  endowed 
with  that  moral  freedom  whose  bestowal  was  the  high- 
est boon  of  Omnipotence.  As  ages  of  millenniums  roll 
away,  we  see  a  double  progress  working  through  all  the 
realms  of  space  ;  a  progress  of  each  race  and  of  each 
individual.  Slowly  and  securely,  though  with  many  an 
apparent  retrogression,  does  each  world-family  become 
better,  wiser,  nobler,  happier.  Slowly  and  securely, 
though  with  many  a  grievous  backsliding,  each  living 
soul  grows  up  to  Virtue.  Nor  pauses  that  awful  march 
for  a  moment,  even  in  the  death  of  the  being  or  the  cata- 
clysm of  the  world.  Over  all  Death  and  Change  reigns 
that  Almighty  changeless  will  which  has  decreed  the 
holiness  and  happiness  of  every  spirit  He  hath  made. 
Through  the  gates  of  the  grave,  and  on  the  ruins  of 
worlds,  shall  those  spirits  climb,  higher  and  yet  higher 
through  the  infinite  ages,  nearer  and  yet  nearer  to 
Goodness  and  to  God." 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

IRELAND    IN    THE    THIRTIES    AND    FORTIES. 

The  prominence  which  Irish  grievances  have  taken 
of  late  years  in  English  politics  has  caused  me  often  to 
review  with  fresh  eyes  the  state  of  the  country  as  it 
existed  in  my  childhood  and  youth,  when,  of  course, 
both  the  good  and  evil  of  it  appeared  to  me  to  be  part 
of  the  order  of  nature  itself. 

I  will  first  speak  of  the  condition  of  the  working 
classes,  then  of  the  gentry  and  clergy. 

I  had  considerable  opportunities  for  many  years  of 
hearing  and  seeing  all  that  was  going  on  in  our 
neighborhood,  which  was  in  the  district  known  as 
"  Fingal "  (the  White  Strangers'  land),  having  been 
once  the  territory  of  the  Danes.  Eingal  extends  along 
the  seacoast  between  Dublin  and  Drogheda,  and  our 
part  lay  exactly  between  Malahide  and  Rush.  My 
father,  and  at  a  later  time  my  eldest  brother,  were 
indefatigable  as  magistrates,  Poor-law  Guardians,  and 
landlords  in  their  efforts  to  relieve  the  wants  and 
improve  the  condition  of  the  people  ;  and  it  fell  on  me 
naturally,  as  the  only  active  woman  of  the  family,  to 
play  the  part  of  Lady  Bountiful  on  a  rather  large  scale. 
There  was  my  father's  own  small  village  of  Donabate 
in  the  first  place,  claiming  my  attention ;  and  beyond  it 
a  larger  straggling  collection  of  mud  cabins  named 
"  Balisk  "  ;  the  landlord  of  which,  Lord  Trimleston, 
was  an  absentee,  and  the  village  a  centre  of  fever 
and  misery.  In  Donabate  there  was  never  any  real 
distress.     In  every  house   there  were  wage-earners  or 


124  FRANCES  POWER    COB  BE. 

pensioners  enough  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door. 
Only  when  sickness  came  was  there  need  for  extra  food, 
wine,  and  so  on.  The  wages  of  a  field-laborer  were,  at 
that  time,  about  8s.  a  week ;  of  course  without  keep. 
His  diet  consisted  of  oatmeal  porridge,  wheaten  grid- 
dle-bread, potatoes,  and  abundance  of  buttermilk.  The 
potatoes,  before  the  Famine,  were  delicious  tubers. 
Many  of  the  best  kinds  disappeared  at  that  time  (nota- 
bly I  recall  the  "  Black  Bangers  "),  and  the  Irish  house- 
wife cooked  them  in  a  manner  which  no  English  or 
French  Cordon  bleu  can  approach.  I  remember  con- 
stantly seeing  little  girls  bringing  the  mid-day  dinners 
to  their  fathers,  who  sat  in  summer  under  the  trees, 
and  in  winter  in  a  comfortable  room  in  our  stable-yard, 
with  fire  and  tables  and  chairs.  The  cloth  which  car- 
ried the  dinner  being  removed  there  appeared  a  plate 
of  "  smiling  "  potatoes  (i  e.,  with  cracked  and  peeling 
skins)  and  in  the  midst  a  well  of  about  a  sixth  of  a 
pound  of  butter.  Along  with  the  plate  of  potatoes  was 
a  big  jug  of  milk,  and  a  hunch  of  griddle-bread.  On 
this  food  the  men  worked  in  summer  from  six  (or 
earlier,  if  mowing  was  to  be  done)  till  breakfast,  and 
from  thence  till  one  o'clock.  After  an  hour's  dinner 
the  great  bell  tolled  again  and  work  went  on  till  six. 
In  winter  there  was  no  cessation  of  work  from  eight 
a.  m.  till  five  p.  m.,  when  it  ended.  Of  course  these 
long  hours  of  labor  in  the  fields,  without  the  modern 
interruptions,  were  immensely  valuable  on  the  farm. 
I  do  not  think  I  err  in  saying  that  my  father  had  thirty 
per  cent,  more  profitable  labor  from  his  men  for  8s.  a 
week,  than  is  now  to  be  had  from  laborers  at  16s. ;  at 
all  events  where  I  live  here,  in  Wales.  It  is  fair  to 
note  that  beside  their  wages  my  father's  men,  and  also 
the  old  women  whose  daughters  (eight  in  number) 
worked  in  the  shrubberies  and  other  light  work  all  the 
year  round,  were  allowed  each  the  grazing  of  a  cow  on 
his  pastures,  and  were  able  to  get  coal  from  the  ships 


IRELAND  IN   THE  THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.    125 

he  chartered  every  winter  from  Whitehaven  for  lis.  a 
ton,  drawn  to  the  village  by  his  horses.  At  Christmas 
an  ox  was  divided  among  them,  and  generally  also  a 
good  quantity  of  frieze  for  the  coats  of  the  men  and  for 
the  capes  of  the  eight  "  Amazons." 

I  cannot  say  what  amount  of  genuine  loyalty  really 
existed  among  our  people  at  that  time.  Outwardly,  it 
appeared  they  were  happy  and  contented,  though,  in 
talking  to  the  old  people,  one  never  failed  to  hear 
lamentations  for  the  "  good  old  times "  of  the  past 
generations.  In  those  times,  as  we  knew  very  well, 
nothing  like  the  care  we  gave  to  the  wants  of  the  work- 
ing classes  was  so  much  as  dreamed  of  by  our  fore- 
fathers. But  they  kept  open  house,  where  all  comers 
were  welcome  to  eat  and  drink  in  the  servants'  hall 
when  they  came  up  on  any  pretext;  and  this  kind  of 
hospitality  has  ever  been  a  supreme  merit  in  Celtic 
eyes.  Some  readers  will  remember  that  the  famous 
chieftainess,  Grana  Uaile,  invading  Howth  in  one  of 
her  piratical  expeditions  in  the  "  spacious  times  of 
great  Elizabeth,"  found  the  gates  of  the  ancient  castle 
of  the  St.  Lawrences  closed,  though  it  was  dinner-time  ! 
Indignant  at  this  breach  of  decency,  Grana  Uaile  kid- 
napped the  heir  of  the  lordly  house  and  carried  him  to 
her  robbers'  fortress  in  Connaught,  whence  she  only  re- 
leased him  in  subsequent  years  on  the  solemn  engage- 
ment of  the  Lords  of  Howth  always  to  dine  with  the 
doors  of  Howth  Castle  wide  open.  I  believe  it  is  not 
more  than  fifty  years,  if  so  much,  since  this  practice 
was  abolished. 

I  think  the  only  act  of  "  tyranny  "  with  which  I  was 
charged  when  I  kept  my  father's  house,  and  which  pro- 
voked violent  recalcitration,  was  when  I  gave  orders 
that  men  coming  from  our  mountains  to  Newbridge  on 
business  with  "the  Master"  should  be  served  with 
largest  platefuls  of  meat  and  jugs  of  beer,  but  should 
not  be  left  in  the  servants'  hall  en  tete-a-tete  with  whole 


126  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

rounds  and  sirloins  of  beef  of  which  no  account  could 
afterwards  be  obtained ! 

Of  course,  the  poor  laborer  in  Ireland  at  that  time 
after  the  failure  of  the  potatoes,  who  had  no  allowances 
and  had  many  young  children  unable  to  earn  anything 
for  themselves,  was  cruelly  tightly  placed.  I  shall  copy 
here  a  calculation  which  T  took  down  in  a  note-book, 
still  in  my  possession,  after  sifting  inquiries  concerning 
prices  at  our  village  shops,  in,  or  about,  the  year 
1845 :  — 

Wheatmeal  costs  2s.  3d.  per  stone  of  14  lbs. 
Oatmeal  "      2s.  4d.  "  " 

Indian  meal    "      Is.  8d.  "  " 

24  lbs.  of  wheatmeal  makes  18  lbs.  of  griddle-bread. 
1  lb.  of  oatmeal  makes  3  lbs.  of  stirabout. 

A  man  will  require  4  lbs.  food  per  day,  28  lbs.  per  week. 
A  woman         "        3  lbs.  "  21  lbs.        " 

Each  child  at  least  2  lbs.  "  14  lbs.        « 

A  family  of  three  will  therefore  require  63  lbs.  of 
food  per  week,  e.  g.  — 

s.  d. 

1  stone    wheat  — 18  lbs.  bread 2    3 

1  stone  oatmeal  —  42  lbs.  stirabout 2    4 


60  lbs.  food ;  cost 4    7 

A  family  of  five  will  require  — 

Man 28  lbs. 

Wife 21  lbs. 

3  children 42  lbs. 

91  lbs.  food. 

s.  d. 

Say  30  lbs.  bread  —  23  lbs.  wheatmeal  ....  3  10 

61  lbs.  stirabout  —  20  lbs.  oatmeal  ....  3    4 

91  lbs 7    2 


IRELAND  IN   THE  THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.     127 

Thus,  when  a  man  had  five  children  to  support,  and 
no  potatoes,  his  weekly  wages  scarcely  covered  bare 
food. 

Before  the  Famine  and  the  great  fever,  the  popula- 
tion of  our  part  of  Ireland  was  exceedingly  dense ; 
more  than  two  hundred  to  the  square  mile.  There 
were  an  enormous  number  of  mud  cabins  consisting  of 
one  room  only,  run  up  at  every  corner  of  the  roadside 
and  generally  allowed  to  sink  into  miserable  squat, 
sottish-looking  hovels  with  no  drainage  at  all ;  mud 
floor  ;  broken  thatch,  two  or  three  rough  boards  for  a 
door ;  and  the  four  panes  of  the  sole  window  stuffed 
with  rags  or  an  old  hat.  Just  500,000  of  these  one- 
roomed  cabins,  the  Registrar-General,  Mr.  William 
Donnelly,  told  me,  disappeared  between  the  census 
before  and  the  census  after  the  Famine !  Nothing 
was  easier  than  to  run  them  up.  Thatch  was  cheap, 
and  mud  abundant,  everywhere  ;  and  as  to  the  beams 
(they  called  them  "&a?nes"),  I  remember  a  man  ad- 
dressing my  father  coaxingly,  "  Ah,  yer  Honor,  will  ye 
plaze  spake  to  the  steward  to  give  me  a  handful  of 
sprigs  ?  "  "  A  handful  of  sprigs  ?  What  for  ?  "  asked 
my  father.  "  Why,  for  the  roof  of  me  new  little  house, 
yer  Honor,  that  I  'm  building  fornenst  the  ould  wan  !  " 

I  never  saw  in  an  Irish  cottage  any  of  the  fine  old 
oak  settles,  dressers  and  armchairs  and  coffers  to  be 
found  usually  in  Welsh  ones.  A  good  unpainted  deal 
dresser  and  table,  a  wooden  bedstead,  a  couple  of 
wooden  chairs,  and  two  or  three  straw  "bosses" 
(stools)  made  like  beehives,  completed  the  furniture 
of  a  well-to-do  cabin,  with  a  range  of  white  or  wil- 
low pattern  plates  on  the  dresser,  and  two  or  three 
frightfully  colored  woodcuts  pasted  on  the  walls  for 
adornment.  Flowers  in  the  gardens  or  against  the 
walls  were  never  to  be  seen.  Enormous  chimney  cor- 
ners, with  wooden  stools  or  straw  "  bosses  "  under  the 
projecting   walls,    were    the    most    noticeable   feature. 


128  FEANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Nothing  seems  to  me  more  absurd  and  unhistorical  than 
the  common  idea  that  the  Celt  is  a  beauty-loving  crea- 
ture, aesthetically  far  above  the  Saxon.  If  he  be  so,  it 
is  surprising  that  his  home,  his  furniture,  his  dress, 
his  garden  never  show  the  smallest  token  of  his  taste  ! 
When  the  young  girls  from  the  villages,  even  from 
very  respectable  families,  were  introduced  into  our 
houses,  it  was  a  severe  tax  on  the  housekeepers'  super- 
vision to  prevent  them  from  resorting  to  the  most 
outrageous  shifts  and  misuse  of  utensils  of  all  sorts. 
I  can  recall,  for  example,  one  beautiful  young  creature 
with  the  lovely  Irish  gray  eyes  and  long  lashes,  and 
with  features  so  fine  that  we  privately  called  her 
"  Madonna."  For  about  two  years  she  acted  as  house- 
maid to  my  second  brother,  who,  as  I  have  mentioned, 
had  taken  a  place  in  Donegal,  and  whose  excellent 
London  cook,  carefully  trained  "  Madonna "  into  what 
were  (outwardly)  ways  of  pleasantness  for  her  master. 
At  last,  and  when  apparently  perfectly  "  domesticated," 
—  as  English  advertisers  describe  themselves, — 
Madonna  married  the  cowman;  and  my  brother  took 
pleasure  in  setting  up  the  young  couple  in  a  particu- 
larly neat  and  rather  lonely  cottage  with  new  deal 
furniture.  After  six  months  they  emigrated;  and 
when  my  brother  visited  their  deserted  house  he  found 
it  in  a  state  of  which  it  will  suffice  to  record  one  item. 
The  pig  had  slept  all  the  time  under  the  bedstead ;  and 
no  attempt  had  been  made  to  remove  the  resulting  heap 
of  manure ! 

My  father  had  as  strong  a  sense  as  any  modern 
sanitary  reformer  of  the  importance  of  good  and  healthy 
cottages ;  and  having  found  his  estate  covered  with 
mud  and  thatched  cabins,  he  (and  my  brother  after 
him)  labored  incessantly,  year  by  year,  to  replace  them 
by  mortared  stone  and  slated  cottages,  among  which 
were  five  schoolhouses,  all  supported  by  himself.  As  it 
was  my  frequent  duty  to  draw  for  him  the  plans  and 


IRELjIND  in  the  thirties  and  forties.   129 

elevations  of  these  cottages,  farmhouses,  and  village 
shops,  with  calculations  of  the  cost  of  each,  it  may  he 
guessed  how  truly  absurd  it  seems  to  me  to  read 
exclusively,  as  I  do  so  often  now,  of  "  tenants'  improve- 
ments "  in  Ireland.  It  is  true  that  my  father  oc- 
casionally let,  on  long  leases  and  without  fines,  large 
farms  (of  the  finest  wheat-land  in  Ireland,  within  ten 
miles  of  Dublin  market),  at  the  price  of  £2  per  Irish 
acre,  with  the  express  stipulation  that  the  tenant 
should  undertake  the  rebuilding  of  the  house  or  farm- 
buildings  as  the  case  might  be.  But  these  were,  of 
course,  perfectly  just  bargains,  made  with  well-to-do 
farmers,  who  made  excellent  profits.  I  have  already 
narrated  in  an  earlier  chapter,  how  he  sold  the  best 
pictures  among  his  heirlooms  —  one  by  Hobbema,  now 
in  Dorchester  House,  and  one  by  Gaspar  Poussin  — 
to  rebuild  some  eighty  cottages  on  his  mountains. 
These  cottages  had  each  a  small  farm  attached  to  it, 
which  was  generally  held  at  will,  but  often  continued 
to  the  tenants'  family  for  generations.  The  rent  was, 
in  some  cases  I  think,  as  low  as  thirty  or  forty  shillings 
a  year  ;  and  the  tenants  contrived  to  make  a  fair  living 
with  sheep  and  potatoes ;  cutting  their  own  turf  on  the 
bog,  and  very  often  earuing  a  good  deal  by  storing  ice 
in  the  winter  from  the  river  Dodder,  and  selling  it  in 
Dublin  in  summer.  I  remember  one  of  them  who  had 
been  allowed  to  fall  into  arrears  of  rent  to  the  extent  of 
£3,  which  he  loudly  protested  he  could  not  pay, 
coming  to  my  father  to  ask  his  help  as  a  magistrate  to 
recover  forty  pounds,  which  an  ill-conditioned  member 
of  his  family  had  stolen  from  him  out  of  the  usual 
Irish  private  hiding-place,  "under  the  thatch." 

But  outside  my  father's  property,  when  we  passed  into 
the  next  villages  on  either  side,  Swords  or  Rush  or 
Balisk,  the  state  of  things  was  bad  enough.  I  will  give 
a  detailed  description  of  the  latter  village,  some  of  which 
was  written  when  the  memory  of  the  scene  and  people 


130  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

was  less  remote  than  now.  It  is  the  most  complete 
picture  of  Irish  poverty,  fifty  years  ago,  which  I  can 
offer. 

Balisk  was  certainly  not  the  "  loveliest  village  of  the 
plain."     Situated  partly  on  the  edge  of  an  old  common, 
partly  on  the  skirts  of  the  domain  of  a  nobleman  who 
had  not  visited  his  estate  for  thirty  years,  it  enjoyed  all 
the   advantages  of   freedom   from   restraint   upon   the 
architectural  genius  of  its  builders.     The  result  was  a 
long  crooked,  straggling  street,  with  mud  cabins  turned 
to  it,  and  from  it,  in  every  possible  angle  of  incidence  : 
some  face  to  face,  some  back  to  back,  some  sideways, 
some  a  little  retired  so  as  to  admit  of  a  larger  than 
ordinary   heap  of   manure  between  the   door  and   the 
road.      Such  is  the  ground-plan  of  Balisk.      The  cabins 
were  all  of  mud,  with  mud  floors  and  thatched  roofs  ; 
some    containing    one     room    only,    others    two,    and 
perhaps,  half  a  dozen,  three  rooms  :    all,  very  literally, 
on  the  ground  ;  that  is  on  the  bare  earth.     Furniture, 
of  course,  was  of  the  usual  Irish  description  :    a  bed 
(sometimes  having  a  bedstead,  oftener  consisting  of  a 
heap  of  straw  on  the  floor),  a  table,  a  griddle,  a  kettle, 
a  stool  or  two,  and  a  boss  of  straw,  with  occasionally 
the  grand  adjunct  of  a  settle ;  a  window  whose  normal 
condition  was  being  stuffed  with  an  old  hat ;    a  door, 
over  and  under  and  around  which  all  the  winds  and 
rains  of  heaven  found  their  way  ;    a  population  consist- 
ing of  six  small  children,  a  bedridden  grandmother,  a 
husband  and  wife,  a  cock  and  three  hens,  a  pig,  a  dog, 
and  a   cat.      Lastly,    a   decoration   of   colored   prints, 
including  the  Virgin  with  seven  swords  in  her  heart, 
St.    Joseph,  the   story  of   Dives   and   Lazarus,   and   a 
caricature  of  a  man  tossed  by  a  bull,  and  a  fat  woman 
getting  over  a  stile. 

Of  course,  as  Balisk  lies  in  the  lowest  ground  in  the 
neighborhood  and  the  drains  were  originally  planned 
to  run   at  "their   own   sweet  will,"  the  town   (as  its 


IRELAND  IN    THE   THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.     131 

inhabitants  call  it)  is  subject  to  the  inconvenience  of 
being  about  two  feet  under  water  whenever  there  are 
any  considerable  floods  of  rain.  I  have  known  a  case 
of  such  a  flood  entering  the  door  and  rising  into  the  bed 
of  a  poor  woman  in  childbirth,  as  in  Mr.  Macdonald's 
charming  story  of  "  Alec  Forbes."  The  woman,  whom  I 
knew,  however,  did  not  die,  but  gave  to  the  world  that 
night  a  very  fine  little  child,  whom  I  subsequently  saw 
scampering  along  the  roads  with  true  Irish  hilarity. 
At  other  times,  when  there  were  no  floods,  only  the 
usual  rains,  Balisk  presented  the  spectacle  of  a  filthy 
green  stream  slowly  oozing  down  the  central  street, 
now  and  then  draining  off  under  the  door  of  any  par- 
ticularly lowly-placed  cabin  to  form  a  pool  in  the  floor, 
and  finally  terminating  in  a  lake  of  stagnant  abomina- 
tion under  the  viaduct  of  a  railway.  Yes,  reader  !  a 
railway  ran  through  Balisk,  even  while  the  description 
I  have  given  of  it  held  true  in  every  respect.  The 
only  result  it  seemed  to  have  effected  in  the  village  was 
the  formation  of  the  Stygian  pool  above-mentioned, 
where,  heretofore,  the  stream  had  escaped  into  a  ditch. 
Let  us  now  consider  the  people  who  dwelt  amid  all 
this  squalor.  They  were  mostly  field-laborers,  working 
for  the  usual  wages  of  seven  or  eight  shillings  a  week. 
Many  of  them  held  their  cabins  as  freeholds,  having 
built  or  inherited  them  from  those  who  had  "  squatted" 
unmolested  on  the  common.  A  few  paid  rent  to  the 
noble  landlord  before  mentioned.  Work  was  seldom 
wanting,  coals  were  cheap,  excellent  schools  were  open 
for  the  children  at  a  penny  a  week  a  head.  Families 
which  had  not  more  than  three  or  four  mouths  to  fill, 
besides  the  breadwinners',  were  not  in  absolute  want, 
save  when  disease,  or  a  heavy  snow,  or  a  flood,  or  some 
similar  calamity  arrived.  Then,  down  on  the  ground, 
poor  souls,  literally  and  metaphorically,  they  could  fall 
no  lower,  and  a  week  was  enough  to  bring  them  to  the 
verge  of  starvation. 


132  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Let  me  try  to  recall  some  of  tlie  characters  of  the  in- 
habitants of  Balisk  in  the  Forties. 

Here  in  the  first  cabin  is  a  comfortable  family  where 
there  are  three  sons  at  work,  and  mother  and  three 
daughters  at  home.  Enter  at  any  hour,  there  is  a  hearty 
welcome  and  bright  jest  ready.  Here  is  the  schoolmas- 
ter's house,  a  little  behind  the  others,  and  back  to  back 
with  them.  It  has  an  attempt  at  a  curtain  for  the  win- 
dow, a  knocker  for  the  door.  The  man  is  a  curious 
deformed  creature,  of  whom  more  will  be  said  hereafter. 
The  wife  is  what  is  called  in  Ireland  a  "  Voteen ; "  a 
person  given  to  religion,  who  spends  most  of  her  time 
in  the  chapel  or  repeating  prayers,  and  who  wears  as 
much  semblance  of  black  as  her  poor  means  may  allow. 
Balisk,  be  it  said,  is  altogether  Catholic  and  devout.  It 
is  honored  by  the  possession  of  what  is  called  "The 
Holy  Griddle."  Perhaps  my  readers  have  heard  of  the 
Holy  Grail,  the  original  sacramental  chalice  so  long 
sought  by  the  chivalry  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  may  ask 
if  the  Holy  Griddle  be  akin  thereto  ?  I  cannot  trace 
any  likeness.  A  "  griddle,"  as  all  the  Irish  and  Scotch 
world  knows,  is  a  circular  iron  plate,  on  which  the  com- 
mon unleavened  cakes  of  wheatmeal  and  oatmeal  are 
baked.  The  Holy  Griddle  of  Balisk  was  one  of  these 
utensils,  which  was  bequeathed  to  the  village  under  the 
following  circumstances.  Years  ago,  probably  in  the 
last  century,  a  poor  "  lone  widow  "  lay  on  her  deathbed. 
She  had  none  to  pray  for  her  after  she  was  gone,  for  she 
was  childless  and  altogether  desolate ;  neither  had  she 
any  money  to  give  to  the  priest  to  pray  for  her  soul. 
Yet  the  terrors  of  purgatory  were  near.  How  should 
she  escape  them  ?  She  possessed  but  one  object  of  any 
value  —  a  griddle  whereon  she  was  wont  to  bake  the 
meal  of  the  wheat  she  gleaned  every  harvest  to  help 
her  through  the  winter.  So  the  widow  left  her  griddle 
as  a  legacy  to  the  village  for  ever,  on  one  condition.  It 
was  to  pass  from  hand  to  hand  as  each  might  want  it, 


IRELAND  IX   THE   THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.     133 

but  every  one  who  used  her  griddle  was  to  say  a  prayer 
for  her  soul.  Years  had  passed  away,  but  the  griddle 
was  still  in  my  time  in  constant  use,  as  "  the  best  griddle 
in  the  town."  The  cakes  baked  on  the  Holy  Griddle  were 
twice  as  good  as  any  others.  May  the  poor  widow  who 
so  simply  bequeathed  it  have  found  long  ago  "  rest  for 
her  soul "  better  than  any  prayers  have  asked  for  her, 
even  the  favorite  Irish  prayer,  "  May  you  sit  in  heaven 
on  a  golden  chair  !  " 

Here  is  another  house,  where  an  old  man  lives  with 
his  sister.  The  old  woman  is  the  Mrs.  Gamp  of  Balisk. 
Patrick  Kussell  has  a  curious  story  attached  to  him. 
Having  labored  long  and  well  on  my  father's  estate,  the 
latter,  finding  him  grow  rheumatic  and  helpless,  pen- 
sioned him  with  his  wages  for  life,  and  Paddy  retired  to 
the  enjoyment  of  such  privacy  as  Balisk  might  afford. 
Growing  more  and  more  helpless,  he  at  last  for  some 
years  hobbled  about  feebly  on  crutches,  a  confirmed 
cripple.  One  day,  with  amazement,  I  saw  him  walking 
without  his  crutches  and  tolerably  firmly  up  to  New- 
bridge House.  My  father  went  to  speak  to  him,  and 
soon  returned,  saying :  "  Here  is  a  strange  thing. 
Paddy  Russell  says  he  has  been  to  Father  Mathew,  and 
Father  Mathew  has  blessed  him,  and  he  is  cured !  He 
came  to  tell  me  he  wished  to  give  up  his  pension,  since 
he  returns  to  work  at  Smith's  farm  next  week."  Very 
naturally,  and  as  might  be  expected,  poor  Paddy,  three 
weeks  later,  was  again  helpless,  and  a  suppliant  for  the 
restoration  of  his  pension,  which  was  of  course  immedi- 
ately renewed.  But  one  who  had  witnessed  only  the 
scene  of  the  long-known  cripple  walking  up  stoutly  to 
decline  his  pension  (the  very  best  possible  proof  of  his 
sincere  belief  in  his  own  recovery)  might  well  be  excused 
for  narrating  the  story  as  a  miracle  wrought  by  a  true 
moral  reformer,  the  Irish  "  Apostle  of  Temperance." 

Next  door  to  Paddy  Russell's  cabin  stood  "  The 
Shop,"  a  cabin  a  trifle  better  than  the  rest,  where  butter, 


134  FBANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

flour,  and  dip  candles,  Ingy-male  (Indian  meal),  and 
possibly  a  small  quantity  of  soap,  were  the  chief  objects 
of  commerce.  Further  on  came  a  miserable  hovel  with 
the  roof  broken  in,  and  a  pool  of  filth,  en  permanence  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor.  Here  dwelt  a  miserable  good-for- 
nothing  old  man  and  equally  good-for-nothing  daughter ; 
hopeless  recipients  of  anybody's  bounty.  Opposite  them, 
in  a  tidy  little  cabin,  always  as  clean  as  whitewash  and 
sweeping  could  make  its  poor  mud  walls  and  earthen 
floor,  lived  an  old  woman  and  her  daughter.  The 
daughter  was  deformed,  the  mother  a  beautiful  old 
woman,  bedridden,  but  always  perfectly  clean,  and 
provided  by  her  daughter's  hard  labor  in  the  fields  and 
cockle-gathering  on  the  seashore,  with  all  she  could 
need.  After  years  of  devotion,  when  Mary  was  no 
longer  young,  the  mother  died,  and  the  daughter,  left 
quite  alone  in  the  world,  was  absolutely  broken-hearted. 
Night  after  night  she  strayed  about  the  chapel-yard 
where  her  mother  lay  buried,  hoping,  as  she  told  me,  to 
see  her  ghost. 

"And  do  you  think,"  she  asked,  fixing  her  eyes  on 
me,  "  do  you  think  I   shall   ever   see   her  again  ?      I 

asked  Father  M would  I  see  her  in  heaven  ?  and 

all  he  said  was,  'I  should  see  her  in  the  glory  of 
God.'  What  does  that  mean?  I  don't  understand 
what  it  means.  Will  I  see  her  herself —  my  poor  old 
mother  ?  " 

After  long  years,  I  found  this  faithful  heart  still 
yearning  to  be  reunited  to  the  "  poor  old  mother,"  and 
patiently  laboring  on  in  solitude,  waiting  till  God  should 
call  her  home  out  of  that  little  white  cabin  to  one  of  the 
"many  mansions,"  where  her  mother  is  waiting  for  her. 

Here  is  a  house  where  there  are  many  sons  and 
daughters  and  some  sort  of  prosperity.  Here,  again,  is 
a  house  with  three  rooms  and  several  inmates,  and  in 
one  room  lives  a  strange,  tall  old  man,  with  something 
of  dignity  in  his  aspect.     He  asked  me  once  to  come 


IRELAND  IN   THE  THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.     135 

into  his  room,  and  showed  me  the  book  over  which  all 
his  spare  hours  seemed  spent :  "  Thomas  a  Kempis." 

"  Ah,  yes,  that  is  a  great  book ;  a  book  full  of  beauti- 
ful things." 

"  Do  you  know  it  ?  do  Protestants  read  it  ?  " 
"  Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  we  read  all  sorts  of  books." 
"  I  'm  glad  of  it.     It 's  a  comfort  to  me  to  think  you 
read  this  book." 

Here  again  is  an  old  woman  with  hair  as  white  as 
snow,  who  deliberately  informs  me  she  is  ninety-eight 
years  of  age,  and  next  time  I  see  her,  corrects  her- 
self, and  "believes  it  is  eighty-nine,  but  it  is  all  the 
same,  she  disremembers  numbers."  This  poor  old  soul 
in  some  way  hurt  her  foot,  and  after  much  suffering 
was  obliged  to  have  half  of  it  amputated.  Strange  to 
say,  she  recovered,  but  when  I  congratulated  her  on  the 
happy  event,  I  shall  never  forget  the  outbreak  of  true 
feminine  sentiment  which  followed.  Stretching  out  the 
poor  mutilated  and  blackened  limb,  and  looking  at  it 
with  woeful  compassion,  she  exclaimed,  "Ah,  ma'am, 
but  it  will  never  be  a  purty  foot  again !  "  Age,  squalor, 
poverty,  and  even  mutilation,  had  not  sufficed  to  quench 
that  little  spark  of  vanity  which  "  springs  eternal  in  the 
(female)  breast." 

Here,  again,  are  half-a-dozen  cabins,  each  occupied  by 
widows  with  one  or  more  daughters  ;  eight  of  whom 
form  my  father's  pet  corps  of  Amazons,  always  kept 
working  about  the  shrubberies  and  pleasure-grounds,  or 
haymaking  or  any  light  fieldwork  ;  houses  which,  though 
poorest  of  all,  are  by  no  means  the  most  dirty  or  uncared 
for.  Of  course  there  are  dozens  of  others  literally  over- 
flowing with  children,  children  in  the  cradle,  children 
on  the  floor,  children  on  the  threshold,  children  on  the 
"  midden  "  outside ;  rosy,  bright,  merry  children,  who 
thrive  with  the  smallest  possible  share  of  buttermilk 
and  stirabout,  are  utterly  innocent  of  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, and  learn  at  school  all  that  is  taught  to  them  at 


136  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

least  half  as  fast  again  as  a  tribe  of  little  Saxons.  Sev- 
eral of  them  in  Balisk  are  the  adopted  children  of  the 
people  who  provide  for  them.  First  sent  down  by  their 
parents  (generally  domestic  servants)  to  be  nursed  in 
that  salubrious  spot,  after  a  year  or  two  it  generally 
happened  that  the  pay  ceased,  the  parent  was  not  heard 
of.  and  the  foster-mother  and  father  would  no  more  have 
thought  of  sending  the  child  to  the  Poor-house  than  of 
sending  it  to  the  moon.  The  Poor-house,  indeed,  occu- 
pied a  very  small  space  in  the  imagination  of  the  people 
of  Balisk.  It  was  beyond  Purgatory,  and  hardly  more 
real.  Not  that  the  actual  institution  was  conducted  on 
other  than  the  very  mildest  principles,  but  there  was  a 
fearful  Ordeal  by  Water  —  in  the  shape  of  a  warm  bath 
—  to  be  undergone  on  entrance  ;  there  were  large  rooms 
with  glaring  windows,  admitting  a  most  uncomfortable 
degree  of  light,  and  never  shaded  by  any  broken  hats  or 
petticoats  ;  there  were  also  stated  hours  and  rules  thor- 
oughly disgusting  to  the  Celtic  mind,  and,  lastly,  for  the 
women,  there  were  caps  without  borders  ! 

Yes !  cruelty  had  gone  so  far  (masculine  guardians, 
however  compassionate,  little  recking  the  woe  they 
caused)  till  at  length  a  wail  arose  —  a  clamor  —  al- 
most a  rebellion !  "  Would  they  make  them  wear  caps 
without  borders  ?  "  The  stern  heart  of  manhood  re- 
lented, and  answered  "  No  !  " 

But  I  must  return  to  Balisk.  Does  any  one  ask,  was 
nothing  clone  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  that 
wretched  place  ?  Certainly ;  at  all  events  there  was 
much  attempted.  Mrs.  Evans,  of  Portrane,  of  whom 
I  shall  say  more  by  and  by,  built  and  endowed  capi- 
tal schools  for  both  boys  and  girls,  and  pensioned  some 
of  the  poorest  of  the  old  people.  My  father  having 
a  wholesome  horror  of  pauperizing,  tried  hard  at  more 
complete  reforms,  by  giving  regular  employment  to  as 
many  as  possible,  and  aiding  all  efforts  to  improve  the 
houses.     Not  being  the  landlord  of  Balisk,  however,  he 


IRELAND  IN   THE   THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.       137 

could  do  nothing  effectually,  nor  enforce  any  kind  of 
sanitary  measures  ;  so  that  while  his  own  villages  were 
neat,  trim  and  healthy,  poor  Balisk  went  on  year  after 
year  deserving  the  epithet  it  bore  among  us,  of  the 
Slough  of  Despond.  'The  failures  of  endeavors  to  mend 
it  would  form  a  chapter  of  themselves.  On  one  occa- 
sion my  eldest  brother  undertook  the  true  task  for  a 
Hercules ;  to  drain,  not  the  stables  of  Augeas,  but  the 
town  of  Balisk.  The  result  was  that  his  main  drain 
was  found  soon  afterwards  effectually  stopped  up  by  the 
dam  of  an  old  beaver  bonnet.  Again,  he  attempted 
to  whitewash  the  entire  village,  but  many  inhabitants 
objected  to  whitewash.  Of  course  when  any  flood,  or 
snow,  or  storm  came  (and  what  wintry  month  did  they 
not  come  in  Ireland  ?)  I  went  to  see  the  state  of  affairs 
at  Balisk  and  provide  what  could  be  provided.  And  of 
course  when  anybody  was  born,  or  married,  or  ill,  or  dead, 
or  going  to  America,  in  or  from  Balisk,  embassies  were 
sent  to  Newbridge  seeking  assistance  ;  money  for  burial 
or  passage  ;  wine,  meat,  coals,  clothes  ;  and  (strange 
to  say),  in  cases  of  death  —  always  jam !  The  connec- 
.  tion  between  dying  and  wanting  raspberry  jam  remained 
to  the  last  a  mystery,  but  whatever  was  its  nature,  it 
was  invariable.  "  Mary  Keogh,"  or  "  Peter  Beilly,"  as 
the  case  might  be,  "  is  n't  expected,  and  would  be  very 
thankful  for  some  jam,"  was  the  regular  message.  Be 
it  remarked  that  Irish  delicacy  has  suggested  the 
euphuism  of  "  is  n't  expected  "  to  signify  that  a  person 
is  likely  to  die.  What  it  is  that  he  or  she  "is  not 
expected  "  to  do,  is  never  mentioned.  When  the  sup- 
plicant was  not  supposed  to  be  personally  known  at 
Newbridge,  or  a  little  extra  persuasion  was  thought 
needful  to  cover  too  frequent  demands,  it  was  commonly 
urged  that  the  petitioner  was  a  "  poor  orphant,"  com- 
monly aged  thirty  or  forty,  or  else  a  "  desolate  widow." 
The  word  desolate,  however,  being  always  pronounced 
"  dissolute,"  the  epithet  proved   less   affecting  than  it 


138  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

was  intended  to  be.  Bnt  absurd  as  their  words  might 
sometimes  be  (and  sometimes,  on  the  contrary,  they 
were  full  of  touching  pathos  and  simplicity),  the  wants 
of  the  poor  souls  were  only  too  real,  as  we  very  well 
knew,  and  it  was  not  often  that  a  petitioner  from 
Balisk  to  Newbridge  went  empty  away. 

But  such  help  was  only  of   temporary    avail.     The 
Famine   came  and  things  grew  worse.      In  poor  fami- 
lies,   that   is,  families  where  there  was  only  one  man 
to  earn  and  five  or  six  mouths  to  feed,  the  best  wages 
given  in  the  country  proved  insufficient  to  buy  the  bar- 
est provision  of  food ;  wheatmeal  for  "  griddle"  bread, 
oatmeal  for  stirabout,  turnips  to  make  up  for  the  lost 
potatoes.       Strong  men    fainted  at    their  work  in  the 
fields,  having  left  untasted  for  their  little  children  the 
food   they  needed   so   sorely.     Beggars   from   the   dis- 
tressed districts  (for  Balisk  was  in  one  of  those  which 
suffered  least  in   Ireland)  swarmed  through  the  coun- 
try, and    rarely,  at    the   poorest  cabin,  asked   in  vain 
for  bread.     Often  and  often  have  I  seen  the  master  or 
mistress  of  some  wretched  hovel  bring  out  the  "  grid- 
dle cake,"  and  give  half  of  it  to  some  wanderer,  who 
answered  simply  with  a  blessing  and  passed  on.    Once 
I  remember  passing  by  the  house  of  a  poor  widow,  who 
had  seven  children  of  her  own,  and  as  if  that  were  not 
enough,  had  adopted  an  orphan  left  by  her  sister.    At 
her  cabin  door  one  day,  I  saw,  propped  up  against  her 
knees,  a  miserable  "  traveller,"  a  wanderer  from  what 
a  native  of  Balisk  would  call  "  other  nations  ;  a  bowzy 
villiain  from  other  nations,"   that  is  to  say,  a  village 
eight  or  ten  miles  away.    The  traveller  lay  senseless, 
starved  to  the  bone  and  utterly  famine-stricken.    The 
widow  tried    tenderly  to  make    him  swallow  a  spoon- 
ful of  bread  and  water,  but  he  seemed  unable  to  make 
the  exertion.     A  few    drops    of   whiskey    by   and    by 
restored   him   to   consciousness.     The   poor    "  bowzy ' 
leaned    his    head  on    his    hands  and   muttered  feebly, 


IRELAND   IN    THE   THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.      139 

"  Glory  be  to  God  !  "  The  widow  looked  up,  rejoicing, 
"  Glory  be  to  God,  he 's  saved  anyhow."  Of  course 
all  the  neighboring  gentry  joined  in  extensive  soup- 
kitchens  and  the  like,  and  by  one  means  or  other  the 
hard  years  of  famine  were  passed  over. 

Then  came  the  Fever,  in  many  ways  a  worse  scourge 
than  the  famine.  Of  course  it  fell  heavily  on  such  ill- 
drained  places  as  Balisk.  After  a  little  time,  as  each 
patient  remained  ill  for  many  weeks,  it  often  happened 
that  three  or  four  were  in  the  fever  in  the  same  cabin, 
or  even  all  the  family  at  once,  huddled  in  the  two  or 
three  beds,  and  with  only  such  attendance  as  the  kindly 
neighbors,  themselves  overburdened,  could  supply. 
Soon  it  became  universally  known  that  recovery  was  to 
be  effected  only  by  improved  food  and  wine ;  not  by 
drugs.  Those  whose  condition  was  already  good,  and 
who  caught  the  fever,  invariably  died ;  those  who  were 
in  a  depressed  state,  if  they  could  be  raised,  were 
saved.  It  became  precisely  a  question  of  life  and 
death  how  to  supply  nourishment  to  all  the  sick.  As 
the  fever  lasted  on  and  on,  and  re-appeared  time  after 
time,  the  work  was  difficult,  seeing  that  no  stores  of  any 
sort  could  ever  be  safely  intrusted  to  Irish  prudence 
and  frugality. 

Then  came  Smith  O'Brien's  rebellion.  The  country 
was  excited.  In  every  village  (Balisk  nowise  behind- 
hand) certain  clubs  were  formed,  popularly  called 
"  Cutthroat  Clubs,"  for  the  express  purpose  of  purchas- 
ing pikes  and  organizing  the  expected  insurrection  in 
combination  with  leaders  in  Dublin.  Head-centre  of 
the  club  of  Balisk  was  the  ex-schoolmaster,  of  whom 
we  have  already  spoken.  How  he  obtained  that  honor 
I  know  not;  possibly  because  he  could  write,  which 
most  probably  was  beyond  the  achievements  of  any 
other  member  of  the  institution ;  possibly  also  because 
he  claimed  to  be  the  lawful  owner  of  the  adjoining  es- 
tate of  Newbridge.     How  the  schoolmaster's  claim  was 


140  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  himself  and  his  friends  is 
a  secret  which,  if  revealed,  would  probably  afford  a  clew 
to  much  of  Irish  ambition.  Nearly  every  parish  in 
Ireland  has  thus  its  lord  de  facto,  who  dwells  in  a  hand- 
some house  in  the  midst  of  a  park,  and  another  lord 
who  dwells  in  a  mud-cabin  in  the  village  and  is  fully 
persuaded  he  is  the  lord  de  jure.  In  the  endless 
changes  of  ownership  and  confiscation  to  which  Irish 
land  has  been  subjected,  there  is  always  some  heir  of 
one  or  other  of  the  dispossessed  families,  who,  if  no- 
thing had  happened  that  did  happen,  and  nobody  had 
been  born  of  a  score  or  two  of  persons  who  somehow, 
unfortunately,  were  actually  born,  then  he  or  she  might, 
could,  would,  or  should  have  inherited  the  estate.  In 
the  present  case  my  ancestor  had  purchased  the  estate 
some  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  from  another 
English  family  who  had  held  it  for  some  generations. 
When  and  where  the  poor  Celtic  schoolmaster's  fore- 
fathers had  come  upon  the  field  none  pretended  to 
know.  Anxious,  however,  to  calm  the  minds  of  his 
neighbors,  my  father  thought  fit  to  address  them  in  a 
paternal  manifesto,  posted  about  the  different  villages, 
entreating  them  to  forbear  from  entering  the  "Cut- 
throat Clubs,"  and  pointing  the  moral  of  the  recent 
death  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris  at  the  barricades. 
The  result  of  this  step  was  that  the  newspaper,  then 
published  in  Dublin  under  the  audacious  name  of  "  The 
Felon,"  devoted  half  a  column  to  exposing  my  father 
by  name  to  the  hatred  of  good  Clubbists,  and  pointing 
him  out  as  "  one  of  the  very  first  for  whose  benefit  the 
pikes  were  procured."  Boxes  of  pikes  were  accordingly 
actually  sent  by  the  railway  before  mentioned,  and 
duly  delivered  to  the  Club  ;  and  still  the  threat  of  re- 
bellion rose  higher,  till  even  calm  people  like  ourselves 
began  to  wonder  whether  it  were  a  volcano  on  which 
we  were  treacling,  or  the  familiar  mud  of  Balisk. 

Newbridge,  as  described  in  the  first  chapter  of  this 


IRELAND  IN   THE   THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.      141 

book,  bore  some  testimony  to  the  troubles  of  the  last 
century  when  it  was  erected.  There  was  a  long  cor- 
ridor which  had  once  been  all  hung  with  weapons,  and 
there  was  a  certain  board  in  the  floor  of  an  inner  closet 
which  could  be  taken  up  when  desirable,  and  beneath 
which  appeared  a  large  receptacle  wherein  the  afore- 
said weapons  were  stored  in  times  of  danger.  Stories 
of  '98  were  familiar  to  us  from  infancy.  There  was 
the  story  of  Le  Hunts  of  Wexford,  when  the  daughter 
of  the  family  dreamed  three  times  that  the  guns  in  her 
father's  hall  were  all  broken,  and,  on  inducing  Colonel 
Le  Hunt  to  examine  them,  the  dream  was  found  to  be 
true,  and  his  own  butler  the  traitor.  Horrible  stories 
were  there,  also,  of  burnings  and  cardings  (*'.  e.,  tear- 
ing the  back  with  the  iron  comb  used  in  carding  wool) ; 
and  nursery  threats  of  rebels  coming  up  back  stairs  on 
recalcitrant  "  puckhawns  "  (naughty  children  —  chil- 
dren of  Puck),  insomuch  that  to  "play  at  rebellion" 
had  been  our  natural  resource  as  children.  Born  and 
bred  in  this  atmosphere,  it  seemed  like  a  bad  dream 
come  true  that  there  were  actual  pikes  imported  into 
well-known  cabins,  and  that  there  were  in  the  world 
men  stupid  and  wicked  enough  to  wish  to  apply  them 
to  those  who  labored  constantly  for  their  benefit.  Yet 
the  papers  teemed  with  stories  of  murders  of  good  and 
just  landlords ;  yet  threats  each  day  more  loud,  came 
with  every  post  of  what  Smith  O'Brien  and  his  friends 
would  do  if  they  but  succeeded  in  raising  the  peasantry, 
alas  !  all  too  ready  to  be  raised.  Looking  over  the  mis- 
erable fiasco  of  that  "  cabbage  garden  "  rebellion  now, 
it  seems  all  too  ridiculous  to  have  ever  excited  the  least 
alarm.  But  at  that  time,  while  none  could  doubt  the 
final  triumph  of  England,  it  was  very  possible  to  doubt 
whether  aid  could  be  given  by  the  English  Government 
before  every  species  of  violence  might  be  committed  by 
the  besotted  peasantry  at  our  gates. 

I   have   been   told   on   good    authority   that    Smith 


142  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

O'Brien  made  his  escape  from  the  police  in  the  "  habit " 
of  an  Anglican  Sisterhood,  of  which  his  sister,  Hon. 
Mrs.  Monsell,  was  Superior. 

A  little  incident  which  occurred  at  the  moment  rather 
confirmed  the  idea  that  Balisk  was  transformed  for  the 
nonce  into  a  little  Hecla ;  not  under  snow,  but  mud.  I 
was  visiting  the  fever  patients,  and  was  detained  late  of 
a  summer's  evening  in  the  village.  So  many  were  ill, 
there  seemed  no  end  of  sick  to  be  supplied  with  food, 
wine  and  other  things  needed.  In  particular,  three 
together  were  ill  in  a  house  already  mentioned,  where 
there  were  several  grown-up  sons,  and  the  people  were 
somewhat  better  off  than  usual,  though  by  no  means 
sufficiently  so  to  be  able  to  procure  meat  or  similar  lux- 
uries. Here  I  lingered,  questioning  and  prescribing, 
till  at  about  nine  o'clock  my  visit  ended  ;  and  I  left 
money  to  procure  some  of  the  things  required.  Next 
morning  my  father  addressed  me  :  — 

"  So  you  were  at  Balisk  last  night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  kept  there." 

"  You  stayed  in  Tyrell's  house  till  nine  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  You  gave  six  and  sixpence  to  the  mother  to  get 
provisions  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Well,  very  simply.  The  police  were  watching  the 
door  and  saw  you  through  it.  As  soon  as  you  were 
gone  the  Club  assembled  there.  They  were  waiting  for 
your  departure  ;  and  the  money  you  gave  was  sub- 
scribed to  buy  pikes  ;  of  course  to  pike  me  !  " 

A  week  later,  the  bubble  burst  in  the  memorable 
Cabbage-garden.  The  rebel  chiefs  were  leniently  dealt 
with  by  the  Government,  and  their  would-be  rebel  fol- 
lowers fell  back  into  all  the  old  ways  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  What  became  of  the  pikes  no  one  knew. 
Possibly  they  exist  in  Balisk  still,  waiting  for  a  Home 
Bule  Government  to  be  brought  forth.     At  the  end  of 


IRELAND  IN   THE  THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.      143 

a  few  months  the  poor  schoolmaster,  claimant  of  New- 
bridge, died  ;  and  as  I  stood  by  his  bedside  and  gave 
him  the  little  succor  possible,  the  poor  fellow  lifted  his 
eyes  full  of  meaning,  and  said,  "To  think  you  should 
come  to  help  me  now.'"  It  was  the  last  reference 
made  to  the  once  dreaded  rebellion. 

After  endless  efforts  my  brother  carried  his  point  and 
drained  the  whole  village  —  beaver  bonnets  notwith- 
standing. Whitewash  became  popular.  "Middens" 
(as  the  Scotch  call  them,  the  Irish  have  a  simpler 
phrase)  were  placed  more  frequently  behind  houses 
than  in  front  of  them.  Costume  underwent  some  vicis- 
situdes, among  which  the  introduction  of  shoes  and 
stockings,  among  even  the  juvenile  population,  was  the 
most  remarkable  feature  ;  a  great  change  truly,  since  I 
can  remember  an  old  woman,  to  whom  my  youngest 
brother  had  given  a  pair,  complaining  that  she  had 
caught  cold  in  consequence  of  wearing,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  those  superfluous  garments. 

Many  were  drawn  into  the  stream  of  the  Exodus,  and 
have  left  the  country.  How  helpless  they  are  in  their 
migrations,  poor  souls  !  was  proved  by  one  sad  story. 
A  steady,  good  young  woman,  whose  sister  had  settled 
comfortably  in  New  York,  resolved  to  go  out  to  join 
her,  and  for  the  purpose  took  her  passage  at  an  Emigra- 
tion Agency  office  in  Dublin.  Coming  to  make  her  fare- 
well respects  at  Newbridge,  the  following  conversation 
ensued  between  her  and  myself  : 

"  So,  Bessie,  you  are  going  to  America  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  to  join  Biddy  at  New  York.  She  wrote 
for  me  to  come,  and  sent  the  passage-money." 

"  That  is  very  good  of  her.  Of  course  you  have  taken 
your  passage  direct  to  New  York  ?  " 

"Well,  no,  ma'am.  The  agent  said  there  was  no 
ship  going  to  New  York,  but  one  to  some  place  close  by, 
New-something-else." 

"New-something-else,  near  New  York;  I  can't  think 
where  that  could  be." 


144  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  New  —  New  —  I  disremember  what  it 
was,  but  he  told  me  I  could  get  from  it  to  New  York 
immadiently." 

"  Oh,  Bessie,  it  was  n't  New  Orleans  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  that  was  it !  New  Orleans  —  New 
Orleans,  close  to  New  York,  he  said." 

"  And  you  have  paid  your  passage-money  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  must  go  there  anyhow,  now." 

"  Oh,  Bessie,  Bessie,  why  would  you  never  come  to 
school  and  learn  geography  ?  You  are  going  to  a 
terrible  place,  far  away  from  your  sister.  That  wicked 
agent  has  cheated  you  horribly." 

The  poor  girl  went  to  New  Orleans,  and  there  died  of 
fever.  The  birds  of  passage  and  fish  which  pass  from 
sea  to  sea  seem  more  capable  of  knowing  what  they  are 
about  than  the  greater  number  of  the  emigrants  driven 
by  scarcely  less  blind  an  instinct.  Out  of  the  three  mil- 
lions who  are  said  to  have  gone  since  the  famine  from 
Ireland  to  America,  how  many  must  there  have  been 
who  had  no  more  knowledge  than  poor  Bessie  Mahon  of 
the  land  to  which  they  went ! 

Before  I  conclude  these  reminiscences  of  Irish  peasant 
life  in  the  Forties,  I  must  mention  an  important  feature 
of  it  —  the  Priests.  Most  of  those  whom  I  saw  in  our 
villages  were  disagreeable-looking  men  with  the  coarse 
mouth  and  jaw  of  the  Irish  peasant  undisguised  by  the 
beards  and  whiskers  worn  by  their  lay  brethren ;  and 
often  the  purple  and  bloated  appearance  of  their  cheeks 
suggested  too  abundant  diet  of  bacon  and  whiskey- 
punch.  They  worried  me  dreadfully  by  clearing  out  all 
the  Catholic  children  from  my  school  every  now  and 
then  on  the  pretence  of  withdrawing  them  from  hereti- 
cal instruction,  though  nothing  was  further  from  the 
thoughts  or  wishes  of  any  of  us  than  proselytizing ;  nor 
was  a  single  charge  ever  formulated  against  our  teachers 
of  saying  a  word  to  the  children  against  their  religion. 
What  the  priests  really  wanted  was  to  obstruct  education 


IRELAND  IN   THE   THIRTIES  AND  FORTIES.      145 

itself  and  too  close  and  friendly  intercourse  with  Protes- 
tants. For  several  winters  I  used  to  walk  down  to 
the  school  on  certain  evenings  in  the  week  and  give  the 
older  lads  and  lassies  lessons  in  Geography  (with  two 
huge  maps  of  the  world  which  I  made  myself,  11  ft.  by 
9  ft.  !)  and  the  first  steps  in  Astronomy  and  History. 
Several  times,  when  the  class  had  been  well  got  together 
and  begun  to  be  interested,  the  priest  announced  that  he 
would  give  them  lessons  on  the  same  night,  and  they 
were  to  come  to  him  instead  of  to  me.  Of  course  I  told 
them  to  do  so,  and  that  I  was  very  glad  he  would  take 
the  trouble.  A  fortnight  or  so  later  however  I  always 
learnt  that  the  priest's  lessons  had  dropped  and  all  was 
to  be  recommenced. 

The  poor  woman  I  mentioned  above  as  so  devoted  to 
her  mother  went  to  service  with  one  of  the  priests  in  the 
neighborhood  in  the  hope  that  she  would  receive  reli- 
gious consolation  from  him.  Meeting  her  some  time 
after  I  expressed  my  hope  that  she  had  found  it.  "  Ah, 
no  ma'am ! "  she  answered  sorrowfully,  "  He  never 
spakes  to  me  unless  about  the  bacon  or  the  like  of  that. 
Priests  does  be  dark  !  "  I  thought  the  phrase  wonder- 
fully significant. 

My  father,  though  a  Protestant  of  the  Protestants  as 
the  reader  has  learned,  thought  it  right  to  send  regu- 
larly every  year  a  cheque  to  the  priest  of  Donabate  as  an 
aid  to  his  slender  resources  ;  and  there  never  was  open- 
ly, anything  but  civility  between  the  successive  cures 
and  ourselves.  We  bowed  most  respectfully  to  each 
other  on  the  roads,  but  I  never  interchanged  a  word 
with  any  of  them  save  once  when  I  was  busy  attending 
a  poor  woman  in  Balisk  in  the  cramps  of  cholera ;  the 
disease  being  at  the  time  raging  through  the  country. 
With  the  help  of  the  good  souls  who  in  Ireland  are 
always  ready  for  any  charitable  deed,  I  was  applying 

mustard  poultices,  when  Father  M entered  the  cabin 

(a  revolting  looking  man  he  was,  whose  nose  had  some- 


146  FB^LNCES  POWER    COBBE. 

how  been  frost-bitten),  and  turned  me  out.  I  implored 
him  to  defer,  or  at  least  hasten  his  ministrations  ;  arid 
stood  outside  the  door  in  great  impatience  for  half  an 
hour  while  I  knew  the  hapless  patient  was  in  agony  and 
peril  of  death  inside.  At  last  the  priest  came  out,  — 
and  when  I  hurried  back  to  the  bedside  I  found  he  had 
been  gumming  some  "  Prayers  to  the  Holy  Virgin  "  on 
the  wall.  Happily  we  were  not  too  late  with  our  mus- 
tard and  "  sperrits,"  and  the  woman  was  saved  ;  whether 

by  Father  M and  the  Virgin  or  by  me  I  cannot 

pretend  to  say. 

I  have  spoken  of  our  village  school,  and  must  add  that 
the  boys  and  girls  who  attended  it  were  exceedingly 
clever  and  bright.  They  caught  up  ideas,  were  moved 
by  heroic  or  pathetic  stories,  and  understood  jokes  to  a 
degree  quite  unmatched  by  English  children  of  the  same 
humble  class,  as  I  found  later  when  I  taught  in  Miss 
Carpenter's  Eagged  Schools  at  Bristol.  The  ingenuity 
with  which,  when  they  came  to  a  difficult  word  in  read- 
ing, they  substituted  another  was  very  diverting.  One 
boy  read  that  St.  John  had  a  leathern  griddle  about  his 
loins ;  and  a  young  man  with  a  deep  manly  voice  once 
startled  me  by  announcing,  "He  casteth  out  divils 
through  —  through,  through  —  Blazes,  the  chief  of  the 
Divils  ! " 

In  Drumcar  school  a  child,  elaborately  instructed  by 
dear,  good  Lady  Elizabeth  M'Clintock  concerning 
Pharisees,  and  then  examined :  "  What  was  the  sin 
of  the  Pharisees  ?  "  replied  promptly  :  "  Atlng  camels, 
my  lady ! " 

Alas,  I  have  reason  to  fear  that  the  erudition  of  my 
little  scholars,  if  quickly  obtained,  was  far  from  durable. 
Paying  a  visit  to  my  old  home  ten  years  later  I  asked 
my  crack  scholar,  promoted  to  be  second  gardener  at 
Newbridge,  "  Well,  Andrew,  how  much  do  you  remem- 
ber of  all  my  lessons  ?  " 

"  Ah,  ma'am,  then,  never  a  word  !  " 


IRELAND  IN    THE   THIRTIES   AND  FORTIES.      147 

"  0,  Andrew,  Andrew !  And  have  you  forgotten  all 
about  the  sun,  the  moon  and  stars,  the  day  and  night, 
and  the  Seasons  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am !  I  do  remember  now,  and  you  set 
them  on  the  schoolroom  table,  and  Mars  was  a  red 
gooseberry,  and  I  ate  him ! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IRELAND  IN  THE  FORTIES.  CONTINUED. 

I  now  turn  to  describe,  as  my  memory  may  serve,  the 
life  of  the  Irish  gentry  in  the  Forties.  There  never  has 
been  much  of  a  middle  class,  unhappily,  in  the  country, 
and  therefore  in  speaking  of  the  gentry  I  shall  have  in 
view  mostly  the  landowners  and  their  families.  These, 
with  few  and  always  much  noted  exceptions,  were 
Protestants,  of  English  descent  and  almost  exclusively 
of  Saxon  blood  ;  the  Anglo-Irish  families,  however  long 
settled  in  Ireland,  naturally  intermarrying  chiefly  with 
each  other.  So  great  was,  in  my  time,  the  difference  in 
outward  looks  between  the  two  races,  that  I  have  often 
remarked  that  I  could  walk  down  Sackville  Street  and 
point  to  each  passenger :  "  Protestant,"  "  Catholic," 
"  Protestant,"  "  Catholic  ; "  and  scarcely  be  liable  to 
make  a  mistake. 

As  I  have  said,  my  memory  bridges  over  the  gulf 
between  a  very  typical  ancien  regime  household  and  the 
present  order  of  things,  and  I  may  be  able  to  mark  some 
changes,  not  unworthy  of  registration.  But  it  must  be 
understood  that  I  make  no  attempt  to  describe  what 
would  be  precisely  called  Irish  society,  for  into  this  I 
never  really  entered  at  all.  I  wearied  of  the  little  I  had 
seen  of  it  after  a  few  balls  and  drawing-rooms  in  Dub- 
lin by  the  time  I  was  eighteen,  and  thenceforward  only 
shared  in  home  entertainments  and  dinners  among 
neighbors  in  our  own  county,  with  a  few  visits  to  rela- 
tives at  greater  distance.  I  believe  the  origin  of  my 
great  boredom  in  Dublin  balls  (for  I  was  very  fond  of 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  149 

dancing)  was  the  extraordinary  inanity  of  the  men 
whom  I  met.  The  larger  number  were  officers  of  Horse 
Artillery  then,  under  the  command  of  my  uncle,  and  I 
used  to  pity  the  poor  youths,  thinking  that  they  danced 
with  me  as  in  duty  bound,  while  their  really  marvellous 
silliness  and  dulness  made  conversation  wearisome  in 
the  extreme.  Many  of  these  same  empty-headed  young 
coxcombs  afterwards  fought  like  Trojans  through  the 
Crimean  War  and  came  back,  —  transformed  into  he- 
roes !  I  remember  my  dentist  telling  me,  much  to  the 
same  purpose,  that  half  the  officers  in  the  garrison  had 
come  to  him  to  have  their  teeth  looked  after  before  they 
went  to  the  Crimea,  and  had  behaved  abominably  in  his 
chair  of  torture,  groaning  and  moaning  and  occasionally 
vituperating  him  and  kicking  his  shins.  But  it  was 
another  story  when  some  of  those  very  men  charged  at 
Balaklava!  We  are  not,  I  think,  yet  advanced  far 
enough  to  dispense  altogether  with  the  stern  teaching 
of  war,  or  the  virtues  which  spring  out  of  the  dreadful 
dust  of  the  battlefield. 

Railways  were  only  beginning  to  be  opened  in  1840, 
and  were  much  dreaded  by  landed  proprietors  through 
whose  lands  they  ran.  When  surveyors  came  to  plan 
the  Dublin  and  Drogheda  Railway  my  father  and  our 
neighbor  Mrs.  Evans  were  up  in  arms  and  our  farmers 
ready  to  throttle  the  trespassers.  I  suggested  we  should 
erect  a  notice-board  in  Donabate  with  this  inscription :  — 

"  Survey  the  world  from  China  to  Peru ; 
Survey  not  here,  —  we  '11  shoot  you  if  you  do." 

The  voyage  to  England,  which  most  of  us  undertook  at 
least  once  or  twice  a  year,  was  a  wretched  transit  in 
miserable,  ill-smelling  vessels.  From  Dublin  to  Bristol 
(our  most  convenient  route)  took  at  least  thirty  hours. 
Erom  Holyhead  to  London  was  a  two  days'  journey 
by  coach.  On  one  of  these  journeys,  having  to  stop 
at   Bristol   for   two   nights,  I    enjoyed  an  opportunity 


150  FRANCES  POWER    COBBE. 

(enchanting,  at  sixteen)  of  being  swung  in  a  basket 
backward  and  forward  across  the  Avon,  where  the 
Suspension  Bridge  now  stands.  Preparations  for  these 
journeys  of  ours  to  England  were  not  quite  so  serious  as 
those  which  were  necessarily  made  for  our  cousins  when 
they  went  out  to  India,  and  were  obliged  for  five  or  six 
months  wholly  to  dispense  with  the  services  of  a  laun- 
dress. Still,  our  hardships  were  considerable,  and  young- 
sters who  were  going  to  school  or  college  were  made  up 
like  little  Micawbers  "  expecting  dirty  weather."  Eld- 
erly ladies,  I  remember,  usually  travelled  in  mourning, 
and  sometimes  kept  their  little  corkscrew  curls  in  paper 
under  their  bonnet  caps  for  the  whole  journey  ;  a  less 
distressing  proceeding,  however,  than  that  of  Lady 
Cahir  thirty  years  earlier,  who  had  her  hair  dressed 
(powdered  and  on  a  cushion)  by  a  famous  hairdresser 
in  Bath,  and  came  over  to  exhibit  it  at  St.  Patrick's  ball 
in  Dublin  Castle,  having  passed  five  nights  at  sea,  des- 
perately ill,  but  heroically  refusing  to  lie  down  and  dis- 
arrange the  magnificent  structure  on  her  aching  head. 

This  lady,  by  the  way  —  of  whom  it  was  said  that 
"  Lady  Cahir  cares  for  no  man  "  —  had  had  a  droll  ad- 
venture in  her  youth,  which  my  mother,  who  knew  her 
well  and  I  think  was  her  schoolfellow,  recounted  to  me. 
Before  she  married  she  lived  with  her  mother,  a  rather 
extravagant  widow,  who  plunged  heavily  into  debt. 
One  day  the  long-expected  bailiffs  came  to  arrest  her 
and  were  announced  as  at  the  hall  door.  Quick  as  light- 
ning Lady  Cahir  (then,  I  think,  Miss  Townsend)  made 
her  mother  exchange  dress  and  cap  with  her,  to  which 
she  added  the  old  lady's  wig  and  spectacles  and  then  sat 
in  her  armchair  knitting  sedulously,  with  the  blinds 
drawn  down  and  her  back  to  the  window.  The  mother 
having  vanished,  the  bailiff  was  shown  up,  and,  exhibit- 
ing his  credentials,  requested  the  lady  to  accompany 
him  to  the  sponging  house.  Of  course  there  was  a  long 
palaver ;  but  at  last  the  captive  consented  to  obey  and 


IRELAND  IN    THE  FORTIES.  151 

merely  said,  "  Well,  I  will  go  if  you  like,  but  I  warn 
you  that  you  are  committing  a  great  mistake  in  appre- 
hending me." 

"  Oh,  oh  !  We  all  know  about  that,  ma'am !  Please 
come  along !     I  have  a  hackney  carriage  at  the  door." 

The  damsel,  well  wrapped  in  cloaks  and  furbelows 
and  a  great  bonnet  of  the  period,  went  quietly  to  her 
destination ;  but  when  the  time  came  for  closing  the 
door  on  her  as  a  prisoner,  she  jumped  up,  threw  off  wig, 
spectacles,  and  old  woman's  cap,  and  disclosed  the  blue 
eyes,  golden  hair,  and  radiant  young  beauty  for  which 
she  was  long  afterwards  renowned.  Meanwhile,  of 
course,  her  mother  had  had  abundance  of  time  to  clear 
out  of  the  way  of  her  importunate  creditors. 

Many  details  of  comforts  and  habits  in  those  days 
were  very  much  in  arrear  of  ours,  perhaps  about  equally 
in  Ireland  and  in  England.  It  is  droll  to  remember,  for 
example,  as  I  do  vividly,  seeing  in  my  childhood  the 
housemaids  striving  with  infinite  pains  and  great  loss 
of  time  to  obtain  a  light  with  steel  and  flint  and  a  tin- 
der-box, when  by  some  untoward  accident  all  the  fires 
in  the  house  (habitually  burning  all  night)  had  been 
extinguished. 

The  first  matchbox  I  saw  was  a  long  upright  red  one 
containing  a  bottle  of  phosphorous  and  a  few  matches 
which  were  lighted  by  insertion  in  the  bottle.  After 
this  we  had  Lucifers  which  nearly  choked  us  with  gas  ; 
but  in  which  we  gloried  as  among  the  greatest  discov- 
eries of  all  time.  Seriously  I  believe  few  of  the  vaunted 
triumphs  of  science  have  contributed  so  much  as  these 
easy  illuminators  of  our  long  dark  Northern  nights  to 
the  comfort  and  health  of  mankind. 

Again,  our  grandmothers  had  used  exquisite  China 
basins  with  round  long-necked  jugs  for  all  their  ablu- 
tions, and  we  had  advanced  to  the  use  of  large  basins 
and  footpans,  slipper  baths  and  shower  baths,  when,  as 
nearly  as  possible  in  1840,  the  first  sponge  bath  was 


152  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

brought  to  Ireland.  I  was  paying  a  visit  to  my  father's 
cousin,  Lady  Elizabeth  McClintoek,  at  Drumcar,  in 
County  Louth,  when  she  exhibited  with  pride  to  me  and 
her  other  guests  the  novel  piece  of  bedroom  furniture. 
When  I  returned  home  and  described  it  my  mother 
ordered  a  supply  for  our  house,  and  we  were  wont  for 
a  long  time  to  enquire  of  each  other,  "how  we  enjoyed 
our  tubs  ?  "  as  people  are  now  supposed  to  ask  :  "  Have 
you  used  Pears'  soap  ?  "  I  believe  it  was  from  India 
these  excellent  inventions  came. 

Many  other  differences  might  be  noted  between  the 
habits  of  those  days  and  of  ours.  Diners  Busses  were, 
of  course,  not  thought  of.  We  dined  at  six,  or  six- 
thirty,  at  latest ;  and  after  the  soup  and  fish,  all  the 
first  course  was  placed  at  once  on  the  table.  For  a 
party,  for  example,  of  sixteen  or  eighteen,  there  would 
be  eight  dishes ;  joints,  fowls,  and  entrees.  It  was  a 
triumph  of  good  cookery,  but  really  achieved,  to  serve 
them  all  hot  at  once.  Tea,  made  with  an  urn,  was  a 
regular  meal  taken  in  the  drawing-room  about  nine 
o'clock ;  never  before  dinner.  The  modern  five  o'clock 
tea  was  altogether  unknown  in  the  Forties,  and  when  I 
ventured  sometimes  to  introduce  it  in  the  Fifties,  I  was 
so  severely  reprehended  that  I  used  to  hold  a  secret 
symposium  for  specially  favored  guests  in  my  own 
room  after  our  return  from  drives  or  walks.  All  old 
gentlemen  pronounced  five  o'clock  tea  an  atrocious  and 
disgraceful  practice. 

Another  considerable  difference  in  our  lives  was 
caused  by  the  scarcity  of  newspapers  and  periodicals. 
I  can  remember  when  the  "  Dublin  Evening  Mail "  — 
then  a  single  sheet,  appearing  three  times  a  week  and 
received  at  Newbridge  on  the  day  after  publication  — 
was  our  only  source  of  news.  I  do  not  think  any  one 
of  our  neighbors  took  the  "  Times "  or  any  English 
paper.  Of  magazines  we  had  "  Blackwood "  and  the 
"  Quarterly,"  but  illustrated  ones  were  unknown.     There 


IRELAND  IN    THE  FORTIES.  153 

was  a  tolerable  circulating  library  in  Dublin,  to  which  I 
subscribed  and  from  whence  I  obtained  a  good  many 
French  books ;  but  the  literary  appetites  of  the  Irish 
gentry  generally  were  frugal  in  the  extreme  ! 

The  real  differences,  however,  between  life  in  1840 
and  life  in  1890  were  much  deeper  than  any  record  of 
these  altered  manners,  or  even  any  references  to  the 
great  changes  caused  by  steam  and  the  telegraph,  can 
convey.  There  were  certain  principles  which  in  those 
days  were  almost  universally  accepted  and  which  pro- 
foundly influenced  all  our  works  and  ways.  The  first 
of  them  was  Parental  and  Marital  Authority.  Perhaps 
my  particular  circumstances  as  the  daughter  of  a  man 
of  immense  force  of  will  caused  me  to  see  the  matter 
especially  clearly,  but  I  am  sure  that  in  the  Thirties 
and  Forties  ( at  all  events  in  Ireland )  there  was  very 
little  declension  generally  from  the  old  Roman  Patria 
Potestas.  Fathers  believed  themselves  to  possess  al- 
most boundless  rights  over  their  children  in  the  matter 
of  pursuits,  professions,  marriages,  and  so  on ;  and  the 
children  usually  felt  that  if  they  resisted  any  parental 
command  it  was  on  their  peril,  and  an  act  of  extreme 
audacity.  My  brothers  and  I  habitually  spoke  of  our 
father,  as  did  the  servants  and  tenants,  as  "  The  Mas- 
ter ;  "  and  never  was  title  more  thoroughly  deserved. 

Another  important  difference  was  in  the  position  of 
women.  Of  this  I  shall  have  more  to  say  hereafter; 
suffice  it  to  note  that  it  was  the  universal  opinion,  that 
no  gentlewoman  could  possibly  earn  money  without 
derogating  altogether  from  her  rank  (unless,  indeed,  by 
card-playing  as  my  grandmother  did  regularly !)  ;  and 
that  housekeeping  and  needlework  (of  the  most  inar- 
tistic kinds)  were  her  only  fitting  pursuits.  The  one 
natural  ambition  of  her  life  was  supposed  to  be  a 
"  suitable  "  marriage  ;  the  phrase  always  referring  to 
settlements,  rather  than  sentiments.  Study  of  any  seri- 
ous sort  was  disapproved,  and  "  accomplishments  "  only 


154  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

were  cultivated.  My  father  prohibited  me  when  very- 
young  from  learning  Latin  from  one  of  my  brothers 
who  kindly  offered  to  teach  me ;  but,  as  I  have  re- 
counted, he  paid  largely  and  generously  that  I  might  be 
.taught  Music,  for  which  I  had  no  faculties  at  all. 
Other  Irish  girls,  my  contemporaries,  were  much  worse 
off  than  I,  for  my  dear  mother  always  did  her  utmost 
to  help  my  studies  and  my  liberal  allowance  permitted 
me  to  buy  books. 

The  laws  which  concerned  women  at  that  date  were 
so  frightfully  unjust  that  the  most  kindly  disposed  men 
inevitably  took  their  cue  from  them,  and  looked  on 
their  mothers,  wives,  and  sisters  as  beings  with  wholly 
inferior  rights ;  with  no  rights,  indeed,  which  should 
ever  stand  against  theirs.  The  deconsideration  of  wo- 
men (as  dear  Barbara  Bodichon  in  later  years  used  to 
say)  was  at  once  cause  and  result  of  our  legal  disabili- 
ties. Let  the  happier  women  of  these  times  reflect  on 
the  state  of  things  which  existed  when  a  married 
woman's  inheritance  and  even  her  own  earnings  (if  she 
■could  make  any),  were  legally  robbed  from  her  by  her 
husband,  and  given,  if  he  pleased,  to  his  mistress  !  Let 
them  remember  that  she  could  make  no  will,  but  that 
her  husband  might  make  one  which  should  bequeath 
the  control  of  her  children  to  a  man  she  abhorred  or  to 
:a  woman  of  evil  life.  Let  them  remember  that  a  hus- 
band who  had  beaten  and  wronged  his  wife  in  every 
possible  way  could  yet  force  her  by  law  to  live  with 
him  and  become  the  mother  of  his  children.  Person- 
ally and  most  fortunately  (for  I  know  not  of  what 
crime  I  might  not  have  been  guilty  if  so  tried  !)  I  never 
had  cause  of  complaint  on  the  score  of  injustice  or  un- 
kindness  from  any  of  the  men  with  whom  I  had  to  do. 
But  the  knowledge,  when  it  came  to  me,  of  the  legal- 
ized oppressions  under  which  other  women  groaned,  lay 
heavy  on  my  mind.  I  was  not,  however,  in  those  early 
days,  interested  in  politics  or  large  social  reforms ;  and 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  155 

did  not  covet  the  political  franchise,  finding  in  my 
manifold  duties  and  studies  over-abundant  outlets  for 
my  energies. 

Another  difference  between  the  first  and  latter  half 
of  the  century  is,  I  think,  the  far  greater  simplicity  of 
character  of  the  older  generation.  No  doubt  there 
were,  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  many  fine  and  sub- 
tle minds  at  work  among  the  poets,  philosophers,  and 
statesmen  of  the  day ;  but  ordinary  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, even  clever  and  well-educated  ones,  would,  I 
think,  if  they  could  revive  now,  seem  to  us  rather  like 
our  boys  and  girls  than  our  grandparents.  Thousands 
of  allusions,  ideas,  shades  of  sentiment  and  reflec- 
tion which  have  become  commonplaces  to  us,  were 
novel  and  strange  to  them.  What  Cowper's  poetry  is 
to  Tennyson's,  what  the  " Vicar  of  Wakefield"  is 
to  "  Middlemarch,"  so  were  their  transparent  minds  to 
ours.  I  remember  once  (for  a  trivial  example  of  what 
I  mean)  walking  with  my  father  in  his  later  days  in 
the  old  garden  one  exquisite  spring  day  when  the  apple- 
trees  were  covered  with  blossoms  and  the  birds  were 
singing  all  round  us.  As  he  leaned  on  my  arm,  having 
just  recovered  from  an  illness  which  had  threatened  to 
be  fatal  and  was  in  a  mood  unusually  tender,  I  was 
tempted  to  say,  "  Don't  you  feel,  Father,  that  a  day  like 
this  is  almost  too  beautiful  and  delicious,  that  it  softens 
one's  feelings  to  the  verge  of  pain  ?  "  In  these  times 
assuredly  such  a  remark  would  have  seemed  to  most 
people  too  obvious  to  deserve  discussion,  but  it  only 
brought  from  my  father  the  reply  :  "  God  bless  my 
soul,  what  nonsense  you  talk,  my  dear  !  I  never  heard 
the  like.  Of  course  a  fine  day  makes  everybody  cheer- 
ful, and  a  rainy  day  makes  us  dull  and  dismal."  Every- 
one I  knew  then,  was,  more  or  less,  similarly  simple ; 
and  in  some  of  the  ablest  whom  I  met  in  later  years 
of  the  same  generation  (e.  g.,  Mrs.  Somerville)  I  found 
the   same  single-mindedness,  the   same   absence  of  all 


156  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

experience  of  the  subtler  emotions.  Conversation,  as  a 
natural  consequence,  was  more  downright  and  rnatter- 
oMact,  and  rarely  if  ever  was  concerned  with  critical 
analysis  of  impressions.  In  short  (as  I  have  said),  our 
fathers  were  in  many  respects  like  children  compared  to 
ourselves. 

Another  and  a  sad  change  has  taken  place  in  the 
amount  of  animal  spirits  generally  shared  by  young  and 
old  in  the  Thirties  and  Forties  and  down,  I  think,  to 
the  Crimean  War,  which  brought  a  great  seriousness 
into  all  our  lives.  It  was  not  only  the  young  who 
laughed  in  joyous  "fits  "  in  those  earlier  days  ;  the  old 
laughed  then  more  heartily  and  more  often  than  I  fear 
many  young  people  do  now;  that  blessed  laugh  of 
hearty  amusement  which  causes  the  eyes  to  water  and 
the  sides  to  ache  —  a  laugh  one  hardly  ever  hears  now 
in  any  class  or  at  any  age.  An  evidence  of  the  high 
level  of  ordinary  spirits  may  be  found  in  the  readiness 
with  which  such  genuine  laughter  responded  to  the 
smallest  provocation.  It  did  not  need  the  delightful 
farce  of  the  Keeley's  acting  (though  I  recall  the  helpless 
state  into  which  Mr.  Keeley's  pride  in  his  red  waistcoat 
reduced  half  the  house),  but  even  an  old,  well-worn,  good 
story,  or  family  catch-word  with  some  ludicrous  associa- 
tion, was  enough  to  provoke  jovial  mirth.  It  was  part 
of  a  young  lady's  and  young  gentleman's  home  training 
to  learn  how  to  indulge  in  the  freest  enjoyment  of  fun 
without  boisterousness  or  shrieks  or  discordance  of  any 
kind.  Young  people  were  forever  devising  pranks  and 
jests  among  themselves,  and  even  their  seniors  occupied 
themselves  in  concocting  jokes,  many  of  which  we 
should  now  think  childish  ;  the  order  of  the  "  April 
Fool,"  being  the  general  type.  Comic  verse  making ; 
forging  of  love  letters ;  disguising  and  begging  as 
tramps ;  sending  boxes  of  bogus  presents ;  making 
"  ghosts "  with  bolsters  and  burnt  cork  eyes  to  be 
placed  in  dark  corners  of  passages ;  these  and  a  score  of 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  157 

such  monkey-tricks  for  which  nobody  now  has  patience, 
were  common  diversions  in  every  household,  and  were 
nearly  always  taken  good-humoredly.  My  father 
used  to  tell  of  one  ridiculous  deception  in  which  the 
chief  actress  and  inventor  was  that  very  grande  dame 
Elisabeth  Hastings,  Countess  of  Moira,  daughter  of  the 
Methodist  Countess  of  Huntingdon.  Lady  Moira,  my 
father  and  two  other  young  men,  by  means  of  adver- 
tising and  letters,  induced  some  wretched  officer  to 
walk  up  and  down  a  certain  part  of  Sackville  Street  for 
an  hour  with  a  red  geranium  in  his  buttonhole,  to  show 
himself  off,  as  he  thought,  to  a  young  lady  with  a 
large  fortune  who  proposed  to  marry  him.  The  con- 
spirators sat  in  a  window  across  the  street  watching 
their  victim  and  exploding  with  glee  at  his  peacock 
behavior.  The  sequel  was  better  than  the  joke.  The 
poor  man  wrote  a  letter  to  his  tormentress,  whom  he 
had  at  last  detected,  so  pitiful  that  her  kind  heart 
melted,  and  she  exerted  her  immense  influence  effect- 
ually on  his  behalf  and  provided  for  him  comfortably 
for  life. 

Henry,  the  third  Marquis  of  Waterford,  husband  of 
the  gifted  and  beautiful  lady  whose  charming  bio- 
graphy Mr.  Hare  has  recently  written,  was  the  last 
example,  I  imagine,  in  Ireland  of  these  redundant 
spirits.  It  was  told  of  him,  and  I  remember  hearing  of 
it  at  the  time,  that  a  somewhat  grave  and  self-important 
gentleman  had  ridden  up  to  Curraghmore  on  business 
and  left  his  bay  horse  at  the  door.  Lord  Waterford, 
seeing  the  animal,  caught  up  a  pot  of  whitewash  in  use 
by  some  laborer  and  rapidly  whitewashed  the  horse : 
after  which  exploit  he  went  indoors  to  interview  his 
visitor,  and  began  by  observing,  "  That  is  a  handsome 
gray  horse  of  yours  at  the  door."  "  A  bay,  my  lord." 
"  Not  at  all.  It  is  a  gray  horse.  I  saw  you  on  it." 
Eventually  both  parties  adjourned  to  the  front  of  the 
house   and   found  the  whitewashed  horse  walking  up 


158  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

and  down  with  a  groom.  "You  see  it  is  gray/'  said  the 
Marquis  triumphantly. 

Certainly  no  one  in  those  days  dreamed  of  asking  the 
question,  "  Is  Life  worth  Living  ?  "  We  were  all,  young 
and  old,  quite  sure  that  life  was  extremely  valuable  ; 
a  boon  for  which  to  be  grateful  to  God.  I  recall  the 
amazement  with  which  I  first  read  of  the  Buddhist 
and  Brahmin  Doctrine  that  Existence  is  per  se  an  evil, 
and  that  the  reward  of  the  highest  virtue  will  be  Ab- 
sorption, or  Nirvana.  The  pessimism  which  prevails  in 
this  Jin  de  siecle  was  as  unknown  in  the  Forties  as  the 
potato  disease  before  the  great  blight. 

I  much  wish  that  some  strong  thinker  would  under- 
take the  useful  task  of  tracking  this  mental  and  moral 
ancemia  of  the  present  generation  to  its  true  origin, 
whether  that  origin  be  the  ebb  of  religious  hope  and 
faith  and  the  reaction  from  the  extreme  and  too  hasty 
optimism  which  culminated  in  1851,  and  has  fallen 
rapidly  since  1875,  or  whether,  in  truth,  our  bodily  con- 
ditions, though  tending  to  prolong  life  and  working 
power  to  an  amazing  degree,  and  yet  less  conducive  to 
the  development  of  the  sanguine  and  hilarious  tempera- 
ment common  in  my  youth.  I  have  heard  as  a  defence 
for  the  revolution  which  has  taken  place  in  medical 
treatment  —  from  the  depletory  and  antiphlogistic  to  the 
nourishing  and  stimulating,  and  for  the  total  abandon- 
ment of  the  practice  of  bleeding  —  that  it  is  not  the 
doctors  who  have  altered  their  minds,  but  the  patients, 
whose  bodies  have  undergone  a  profound  modification. 
I  can  quite  recall  the  time  when  (as  all  the  novels  of 
the  period  testify)  if  anybody  had  a  fall  or  a  fit,  or 
almost  any  other  mishap,  it  was  the  first  business  of  the 
doctor  to  whip  out  his  lancet,  bare  the  sufferer's  arm, 
and  draw  a  large  quantity  of  blood,  when  everybody 
and  the  aforesaid  novels  always  remarked :  "  It  was 
providential  that  there  was  a  doctor  at  hand  "  to  do  it. 
I  have  myself  seen  this  operation  performed  on  one  of 


IRELAND  IN    THE  FORTIES.  159 

my  brothers  in  our  drawing-room  about  1836,  and  I 
heard  of  it  every  day  occurring  among  our  neighbors, 
rich  and  poor.  My  father's  aunt,  whom  I  well  remem- 
ber, Jane  Power  Trench  (sister  of  the  first  Lord  Clan- 
carty),  who  lived  in  Marlborough  Buildings  in  Bath,  was 
habitually  bled  every  year  just  before  Easter,  having 
previously  spent  the  entire  winter  in  her  bed-room,  of 
which  the  windows  were  pasted  down  and  the  doors 
doubled.  A  few  days  after  the  phlebotomy  the  old 
lady  invariably  bought  a  new  bonnet  and  walked  in  it 
up  to  the  top  of  Beacon  Hill.  She  continued  the  annual 
ritual  unbroken  till  she  died  at  seventy-nine.  Surely 
these  people  were  made  of  stronger  pate  than  we  !  In 
corroboration  of  this  theory  I  may  record  how  much 
more  hardy  were  the  gentlemen  of  the  Forties  in  all 
their  habits  than  are  those  of  the  Nineties.  When  my 
father  and  his  friends  went  on  grouse-shooting  expe- 
ditions to  our  mountain-lodge,  I  used  to  provide  for  the 
large  parties  only  abundance  of  plain  food  for  dinners, 
and  for  luncheons  merely  sandwiches,  bread  and  cheese, 
with  a  keg  of  ale  and  a  basket  of  apples.  By  degrees  it 
became  necessary  (to  please  my  brother's  guests)  to  pro- 
vide the  best  of  fish,  fowl  and  flesh,  champagne  and 
peaches.  The  whole  odious  system  of  battues,  rendering 
sport  unmanly  as  well  as  cruel,  with  all  its  attendant 
waste  and  cost  and  disgusting  butchery,  has  grown 
up  within  my  recollection  by  the  extension  of  luxury, 
laziness,  and  ostentation. 

To  turn  to  another  subject.  There  was  very  little 
immorality  at  that  time  in  Ireland,  either  in  high  or 
low  life,  and  what  there  was  received  no  quarter.  But 
there  was,  certainly,  together  with  the  absence  of  vice,  a 
lack  of  some  of  the  virtues  which  have  since  developed 
amongst  us.  It  is  not  easy  to  realize  that  in  my  life- 
time men  were  hanged  for  forgery  and  for  sheep-steal- 
ing ;  and  that  no  one  agitated  for  the  repeal  of  such 
Draconian  legislation,  but  everybody  placidly  repeated 


160  FR^INCES  POWER   COBBE. 

the  observation  (nowadays  so  constantly  applied  to  the 
scientific  torture  of  animals),  that  it  was  "necessary." 
Cruelties,  wrongs,  and  oppressions  of  all  kinds  were  rife, 
and  there  were  (in  Ireland  at  all  events)  none  to  raise 
an  outcry  such  as  would  echo  now  from  one  end  of 
England  to  the  other. 

The  Protestant  pulpit  was  occupied  by  two  distinct 
classes  of  men.  There  were  the  younger  sons  of  the 
gentry  and  nobles,  who  took  the  large  livings  and  were 
booked  for  bishoprics ;  and  these  were  educated  at  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  were  more  or  less  cultivated  men,  and 
associated  of  course  on  equal  terms  with  the  best  in  the 
land.  Not  seldom  they  were  men  of  noble  lives,  and 
extreme  piety ;  such  for  example,  was  the  last  Protes- 
tant Archbishop  of  Tuam,  and  a  certain  Archdeacon 
Trench,  who  I  remember  regarding  with  awe  and 
curiosity  since  I  had  heard  that  he  had  once  got  up  into 
his  own  pulpit,  and  (like  Maxwell  Gray's  "  Dean  Mait- 
land ")  made  a  public  confession  of  all  his  life's  mis- 
doings. The  second  class  of  Irish  clergymen  in  those 
days  were  men  of  quite  a  lower  social  grade,  educated 
in  Trinity  College,  often,  no  doubt,  of  excellent  char- 
acter and  devotion,  but  generally  extremely  narrow  in 
their  views,  conducting  all  controversies  by  citations 
of  isolated  Bible-texts,  and  preaching  to  their  sparse 
country  congregations  with  Dublin  brogues,  which,  not 
seldom,  reduced  the  sublimity  of  their  subjects  to 
bathos.  There  was  one,  for  example,  who  said,  as  the 
peroration  of  his  sermon  on  the  Pear  of  Death  :  — 

"Me  brethren  the  doying  Christian  lepps  into  the 
arrums  of  Death  and  makes  his  hollow  jaws  ring  with 
eternal  hallelujahs  !  " 

I  have  myself  heard  another  read  the  concluding 
chapters  of  the  gospels,  substituting  with  extraordinary 
effect  the  words  "two  Meal-factors,"  for  the  "two 
malefactors,"  who  were  crucified.  There  was  a  chapter 
in  the  Acts  which  we  dreaded  to  hear,  so  difficult  was 


IE  ELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  101 

it  to  help  laughing  when  we  were  told  of  "  Perthians 
and  Modes,  and  the-  dwellers  in  Mesopotemia  and  the 
parts  of  Libya  about  Cyraine,  streengers  of  Mourn, 
Jews  and  Proselytes,  Crates  and  Arabians."  It  was 
also  hard  to  listen  gravely  to  a  vivid  description  of 
Jonah's  catastrophe,  as  I  have  heard  it,  thus  :  "  The 
wreves  bate  against  the  ship,  and  the  ship  bate  against 
the  weves ; "  (and,  at  last)  "  the  Wheel  swallowed 
Jonah  ! " 

They  had  a  difficult  place  to  hold,  these  humbler 
Irish  clergymen,  properly  associating  with  no  class  of 
their  parishioners ;  but  to  their  credit  be  it  said,  they 
were  nearly  all  men  of  blameless  lives,  who  did  their 
duty  as  they  understood  it,  fairly  well.  The  disestab- 
lishment of  the  Irish  Church  which  I  had  regarded 
beforehand  with  much  prejudice,  did  (I  have  since 
been  inclined  to  think)  very  little  mischief,  and  cer- 
tainly awakened  in  the  minds  of  the  Irish  squirearchy 
who  had  to  settle  their  creed  afresh,  an  interest  in 
theology  which  was  never  exhibited  in  my  earlier  days. 
I  was  absolutely  astounded  on  paying  a  visit  to  my  old 
home  a  few  years  after  disestablishment,  and  while  the 
Convention  (commonly  called  the  Contention  /)  was 
going  on,  to  hear  sundry  recondite  mysteries  discussed 
at  my  brother's  table  and  to  find  some  of  my  old  dan- 
cing partners  actually  greedily  listening  to  what  I 
could  tell  them  of  the  then  recent  discovery  of  Mr. 
Edmund  Ffoulkes,  —  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Double 
Procession  of  the  Holy  Ghost  had  been  invented  by 
King  Reccared. 

As  regards  any  moral  obligation  or  duty  owed  by  men 
and  women  to  the  lower  animals,  such  ideas  were  as  yet 
scarcely  beginning  to  be  recognized.  It  was  in  1822, 
the  year  in  which  I  was  born,  that  brave  old  Richard 
Martin  carried  in  Parliament  the  first  Act  ever  passed 
by  any  legislature  in  the  world  on  behalf  of  the  brutes. 
Tom  Moore  had  laughed  at  this  early  Zoophilist :  — 


162  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

"  Place  me  midst  O'Rourkes,  O'Tooles, 
The  ragged  royal  blood  of  Tara ! 
Place  me  where  Dick  Martin  rules 
,       The  houseless  wilds  of  Connemara." 

But  in  the  history  of  human  civilization,  "Martin's 
Act "  will  hereafter  assuredly  hold  a  distinct  place  of 
honor  when  many  a  more  pompous  political  piece  of 
legislation  is  buried  in  oblivion.  For  a  long  time  the 
new  law,  and  the  Society  for  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
which  arose  to  work  it,  were  objects  of  obloquy  and 
jest  even  from  such  a  man  as  Sydney  Smith,  who  did 
his  best  in  the  "Edinburgh  Review"  to  sneer  them 
down.  But  by  degrees  they  formed,  as  Mr.  Lecky 
says  every  system  of  legislation  must  do,  a  system  of 
moral  education.  A  sense  of  the  Rights  of  Animals 
has  slowly  been  awakened,  and  is  becoming,  by  not 
imperceptible  degrees,  a  new  principle  of  ethics.  In 
my  youth  there  were  plenty  of  good  people  who  were 
fond  of  dogs,  cats,  and  horses  ;  but  nothing  in  their 
behavior,  or  in  that  of  any  one  I  knew  at  that  time, 
testified  to  the  existence  of  any  latent  idea  that  it  was 
morally  wrong  to  maltreat  animals  to  any  extent. 
Pious  sportsmen  were  wont  to  scourge  their  dogs  with 
frightful  dog-whips,  for  any  disobedience  or  mistake, 
with  a  savage  violence  which  I  shudder  to  remember ; 
and  which  I  do  not  think  the  most  brutal  men  would 
now  exhibit  openly.  Miss  Edgeworth's  then  recent 
novel  of  "  Ennui "  had  described  her  hero  as  riding  five 
horses  to  death  to  give  himself  a  sensation,  without 
(as  it  would  appear)  forfeiting  in  the  author's  opinion 
his  claims  to  the  sympathies  of  the  reader.  I  can 
myself  recall  only  laughing,  not  crying  as  I  should  be 
more  inclined  to  do  now,  at  the  spectacle  of  miserable 
half-starved  horses  made  to  gallop  in  Irish  cars  to  win 
a  bribe  for  the  driver,  who  flogged  them  over  ruts  and 
stones,  shouting  (as  I  have  heard  them),  "  Never  fare ! 
I  '11   batther   him   out   of    that !  "      The  picture    of    a 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  163 

"  Rosinante,"  from  Cervantes'  time  till  a  dozen  or  two 
years  ago,  instead  of  being  one  of  the  most  pathetic 
objects  in  the  world — the  living  symbol  of  human 
cruelty — was  always  considered  a  particularly  laugh- 
able caricature.  Only  tender-hearted  Bewick  in  his 
woodcut,  "  Waiting  for  Death,"  tried  to  move  the  hearts 
of  his  generation  to  compassion  for  the  starved  and 
worn-out  servant  of  ungrateful  man. 

The  Irish  peasantry  do  not  habitually  maltreat 
animals,  but  the  frightful  mutilations  and  tortures 
which  of  late  years  they  have  practised  on  cattle 
belonging  to  their  obnoxious  neighbors,  is  one  of  the 
worst  proofs  of  the  existence  in  the  Celtic  character  of 
that  undercurrent  of  ferocity  of  which  I  have  spoken 
elsewhere. 

Among  Irish  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the  Forties 
there  was  a  great  deal  of  interest  of  course  in  our 
domestic  pets,  and  I  remember  a  beautiful  and  beloved 
young  bride  coming  to  pay  us  a  visit,  and  asking  in  a 
tone  of  profound  conviction :  "  What  would  life  be 
without  dogs  ?  "  Still  there  was  nothing  then  existing, 
I  think,  in  the  world  like  the  sentiment  which,  inspired 
Mathew  Arnold's  "  Geist "  or  even  his  "  Kaiser  Dead." 
The  gulf  between  the  canine  race  and  ours  was  thought 
to  be  measureless.  Darwin  had  not  yet  written  the 
"  Descent  of  Man  "  or  made  us  imagine  that  "  God  had 
made  of  one  blood"  at  least  all  the  mammals  "upon 
earth."  No  one  dreamed  of  trying  to  realize  what 
must  be  the  consciousness  of  suffering  animals  ;  nor 
did  any  one,  I  think,  live  under  the  slightest  sense  of 
responsibility  for  their  well-being.  Even  my  dear  old 
friend,  Harriet  St.  Leger,  though  she  was  renowned 
through  the  country  for  her  attachment  to  her  great 
black  Retrievers,  said  to  me  one  day,  many  years  after 
I  had  left  Ireland,  "  I  don't  understand  your  feelings 
about  animals  at  all.  To  me  a  dog  is  a  dog.  To  you  it 
seems  to  be  something  else  ! " 


164  FRANCES  POWER    COB  BE. 

Another  difference  was,  that  there  was  very  little 
popularity-hunting  in  the  Forties.  The  "  working 
man  "  was  seen  but  not  yet  heard  of ;  and,  so  far  as  I 
remember,  we  thought  as  little  of  the  public  opinion  of 
our  villages  respecting  us  as  we  did  of  the  public 
opinion  of  the  stables.  The  wretched  religious  bigotry 
which,  as  we  knew,  made  the  Catholics  look  on  us  as 
infallibly  condemned  of  God  in  this  world  and  the  next, 
was  an  insuperable  barrier  to  sympathy  from  them,  and 
we  never  expected  them  to  understand  either  our  acts 
or  motives.  But  if  we  cared  little  or  nothing  what 
they  thought  of  us,  I  must  in  justice  say  that  we  did 
care  a  great  deal  for  their  comfort,  and  were  genuinely 
unhappy  in  their  afflictions  and  active  to  relieve  their 
miseries.  When  the  famine  came  there  was  scarcely 
one  Irish  lady  or  gentleman,  I  think,  who  did  not  spend 
time,  money,  and  labor  like  water  to  supply  food  to  the 
needy.  I  remember  the  horror  with  which  my  father 
listened  to  a  visitor,  who  was  not  an  Irishwoman  but  a 
purse-proud  Welsh  heiress  married  to  a  half  idiotic 
baronet  in  our  neighborhood,  who  told  him  that  her  hus- 
band's Mayo  property  had  just  cost  them  £70.  "That 
will  go  some  way  in  supplying  Indian  meal  to  your 
tenants,"  said  my  father,  supposing  that  to  such  pur- 
pose it  must  be  devoted.     "  Oh  dear,  no  !     We  are  not 

spending  it  for  any  such  use,"   said  Lady .     "  We 

are  spending  it  on  evictions  !  "  "  Good  God ! "  shouted 
my  father  ;  "  how  shocking  !     At  such  a  time  as  this  !  " 

It  has  been  people  like  these  who  have  ever  since 
done  the  hard  things  of  which  so  much  capital  has  been 
made  by  those  whose  interest  it  has  been  to  stir  up 
strife  in  the  "  distressful  country." 

I  happen  to  be  able  to  recall  precisely  the  day,  almost 
the  hour,  when  the  blight  fell  on  the  potatoes  and 
caused  the  great  calamity.  A  party  of  us  were  driving 
to  a  seven  o'clock  dinner  at  the  house  of  our  neighbor, 
Mrs.  Evans,  of  Portrane.     As  we  passed  a  remarkably 


IE  ELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  1C5 

fine  field  of  potatoes  in  blossom,  the  scent  came  through 
the  open  windows  of  the  carriage  and  we  remarked  to 
each  other  how  splendid  was  the  crop.  Three  or  four 
hours  later,  as  we  returned  home  in  the  dark,  a  dread- 
ful smell  came  from  the  same  field,  and  we  exclaimed : 
"  Something  has  happened  to  those  potatoes  ;  they  do 
not  smell  at  all  as  they  did  when  we  passed  them  on 
our  way  out."  Next  morning  there  was  a  wail  from 
one  end  of  Ireland  to  the  other.  Every  field  was  black 
and  every  root  rendered  unfit  for  human  food.  And 
there  were  nearly  eight  millions  of  people  depending 
principally  upon  these  potatoes  for  existence  ! 

The  splendid  generosity  of  the  English  public  to  us 
at  that  time  warmed  all  our  Anglo-Irish  hearts  and 
cheered  us  to  strain  every  nerve  to  feed  the  people. 
But  the  agitators  were  afraid  it  would  promote  too 
much  good  feeling  between  the  nations,  which  would 
not  have  suited  their  game.  I  myself  heard  O'Connell 
in  Conciliation  Hall  (that  ill-named  place  !)  endeavor  to 
belittle  English  liberality.  He  spoke  (a  strange  figure 
in  the  red  robes  of  his  Mayoralty  and  with  a  little  sandy 
wig  on  his  head)  to  the  following  purpose  :  — 

"They  have  sent  you  over  money  in  your  distress. 
But  do  you  think  they  do  it  for  love  of  you,  or  because 
they  feel  for  you,  and  are  sorry  for  your  trouble  ?  Devil 
a  bit !  They  are  afraid  of  you!  —  that  is  it !  They  are 
afraid  of  you.     You  are  eight  millions  strong." 

It  was  as  wicked  a  speech  as  ever  a  man  made,  but  it 
was  never,  that  I  know  of,  reported  or  remarked  upon. 
He  spoke  continually  to  similar  purpose  no  doubt,  in 
that  Hall,  where  my  cousin  —  afterwards  the  wife  of 
John  Locke,  M.  P.  for  South wark  —  and  I  had  gone  to 
hear  him  out  of  girlish  curiosity. 

The  part  played  by  Anglo-Irish  ladies  when  the  great 
fever  which  followed  the  famine  came  on  us  was  the 
same.  It  became  perfectly  well  known  that  if  any  of 
the  upper  classes  caught  the  fever,  they  almost  uni- 


166  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

formly  died.  The  working  people  could  generally  be 
cured  by  a  total  change  of  diet  and  abundant  meat  and 
wine,  but  to  the  others  no  difference  could  be  made  in 
that  way,  and  numbers  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  lost 
their  lives  by  attending  their  poor  in  the  disease.  It 
was  very  infectious,  or  at  least  it  was  easily  caught  in 
each  locality  by  those  who  went  into  the  cabins. 

There  were  few  people  whom  I  met  in  Ireland  in 
those  early  days  whose  names  would  excite  any  inter- 
est in  the  reader's  mind.  One  was  poor  Elliot  Warbur- 
ton,  the  author  of  "  The  Crescent  and  the  Cross,"  who 
came  many  times  to  Newbridge  as  an  acquaintance  of  my 
brother.  He  was  very  refined  and,  as  we  considered, 
rather  effeminate ;  but  how  grand,  even  sublime,  was 
he  in  his  death !  On  the  burning  Amazon  in  mid- 
Atlantic  he  refused  to  take  a  place  in  the  crowded 
boats,  and  was  last  seen  standing  alone  beside  the  faith- 
ful Captain  at  the  helm  as  the  doomed  vessel  was 
wrapped  in  flames.  I  have  never  forgotten  his  pale, 
intellectual  face  and  somewhat  puny  frame,  and  pictured 
him  thus  —  a  true  hero. 

His  brother,  who  was  commonly  known  as  Hochelaga 
from  the  name  of  his  book  on  Canada,  was  a  hale  and 
genial  young  fellow,  generally  popular.  One  rainy  day 
he  was  prompted  by  a  silly  young  lady-guest  of  ours  to 
sing  a  series  of  comic  songs  in  our  drawing-room,  the 
point  of  the  jokes  turning  on  the  advances  of  women  to 
men.  My  dear  mother,  then  old  and  feeble,  after  list- 
ening quietly  for  a  time,  slowly  rose  from  her  sofa, 
walked  painfully  across  the  room,  and  leaning  over  the 
piano  said  in  her  gentle  way  a  few  strong  words  of 
remonstrance.  She  could  not  bear,  she  said,  that  men 
should  ridicule  women.  Respect  and  chivalrous  feeling 
for  them,  even  when  they  were  foolish  and  ill-advised, 
were  the  part,  she  always  thought,  of  a  generous  man. 
She  would  beg  Mr.   Warburton  to  choose  some  other 


IRELAND  IN    THE  FORTIES.  167 

songs  for  his  fine  voice.  All  this  was  done  so  gently 
and  with  her  sweet,  kind  smile,  that  no  one  conld  take 
offence.  Mr.  Warburton  was  far  from  doing  so.  He 
was,  I  could  see,  touched  with  tender  reverence  for  his 
aged  monitress,  and  rising  hastily  from  the  piano  made 
the  frankest  apologies,  which  of  course  were  instantly 
accepted.  I  have  described  this  trivial  incident  because 
I  think  it  illustrates  the  kind  of  influence  which  was 
exercised  by  women  of  the  old  school  of  "  decorum" 

Another  man  who  sometimes  came  to  our  house  was 
Dr.  Longley,  then  Bishop  of  Eipon,  afterwards  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury.  He  was  a  very  charming  person, 
without  the  slightest  episcopal  morgue  or  affectation,  and 
with  the  kindest  brown  eyes  in  the  world.  His  wife 
was  niece,  and,  I  believe,  eventually  heiress  of  our 
neighbor  Mrs.  Evans;  and  he  and  his  family  spent 
some  summers  at  Portrane  in  the  Fifties  when  we  had 
many  pleasant  parties  and  picnics.  I  shall  not  forget 
how  the  Bishop  laughed  when  the  young  Longleys  and 
I  and  a  few  guests  of  my  own,  inaugurated  some  char- 
ades, and  our  party,  all  in  disguise,  were  announced  on 
our  arrival  at  Portrane,  as  "  Lady  Worldly,"  "  Miss 
Angelina  Worldly,"  "  Sir  Bumpkin  Blunderhead,"  and 
the  "  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheims." 

Our  word  was  "  Novice."  I,  as  Lady  Worldly,  in  my 
great-grandmother's  petticoat  and  powdered  toupet,  gave 
my  daughter  Angelina  a  lecture  on  the  desirability  of 
marrying  "  Sir  Bumpkin  Blunderhead,"  who  was  rich, 
and  of  dismissing  Captain  Algernon,  who  was  poor.  Sir 
Bumpkin  then  made  his  proposals,  to  which  Angelina 
emphatically  answered  "  ISTo."  In  the  second  scene  I 
met  Sir  Bumpkin  at  the  gaming-table,  and  fleeced  him 
utterly ;  the  end  of  his  "  Vice  "  being  suicide  on  the 
adjacent  sofa.  Angelina  then  in  horror  took  the  veil, 
and  became  a  "  No-vice,"  duly  admitted  to  her  Nunnery 
by  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheims  (my  young- 
est brother  in  a  superb  scarlet  dressing  gown)  who  pro- 


168  FBANCJES  POWER   COBBE. 

nounced  a  sermon  on  the  pleasures  of  fasting  and  going 
barefoot.  Angelina  retired  to  her  cell,  but  was  soon 
disturbed  by  a  voice  outside  the  window  (Henry  Long- 
ley's)  ;  and  exclaiming,  "  Algernon,  beloved  Algernon  ! " 
a  speedy  elopement  over  the  back  of  the  sofa  concluded 
the  fate  of  the  Novice  and  the  charade. 

There  was  another  charade  in  which  we  held  a  debate 
in  Parliament  on  a  Motion  to  "abolish  the  sun  and 
moon,"  which  amused  the  bishop  to  the  last  degree, 
especially  as  we  made  fun  of  Joseph  Hume's  retrench- 
ments ;  he  being  a  particular  friend  and  frequent  guest 
of  our  hostess.  The  abolition  of  the  Sun  would,  we 
feared,  affect  the  tax  on  parasols. 

At  Ripon,  as  Dr.  Longley  told  me,  the  Palace  pre- 
pared for  him  (the  first  bishop  of  the  new  see)  had,  as 
ornaments  of  the  front  of  the  house,  two  full-sized 
stone  (or  plaster)  Angels.  One  day  a  visitor  asked  him  : 
"  Pray,  my  Lord,  is  it  supposed  by  Divines  that  Angels 
wear  the  order  of  the  Garter  ?  "  On  inspection  it  proved 
that  the  Ripon  Angels  had  formerly  done  service  as 
statues  of  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert,  but  that  wings 
had  been  added  to  fit  them  for  the  episcopal  residence. 
Sufficient  care,  however,  had  not  been  taken  to  efface  the 
insignia  of  the  Most  Illustrious  Order ;  and  "  Honi  soit 
qui  mat  y  pense  "  might  be  dimly  deciphered  on  the  leg 
of  the  male  celestial  visitant. 

A  lad}r  nearly  related  to  Mrs.  Longley,  who  had  mar- 
ried an  English  nobleman,  adopted  the  views  of  the 
Plymouth  Brothers  (or  as  all  the  Mrs.  Malaprops  of  the 
period  invariably  styled  them,  the  "Yarmouth  Bloat- 
ers "  ),  which  had  burst  into  sudden  notoriety.  When 
her  husband  died,  leaving  her  a  very  wealthy  woman, 
she  thought  it  her  duty  to  carry  out  the  ideas  of  her 
sect  by  putting  down  such  superfluities  of  her  establish- 
ment as  horses  and  carriages,  and  a  well  appointed  table. 
She  accordingly  wrote  to  her  father  and  begged  him  to 
dispose  of  all  her  plate  and  equipages.     Lord  C ■ 


IRELAND  IN    THE  FORTIES.  169 

made  no  remonstrance  and  offered  no  arguments  ;  and 
after  a  year  or  two  he  received  a  letter  from  his  daugh- 
ter couched  in  a  different  strain.  She  told  him  that  she 
had  now  reached  the  conviction  that  it  was  "  the  will  of 
God  that  a  peeress  should  live  as  a  peeress,"  and  she 
begged  him  to  buy  for  her  new  carriages  and  fresh  plate. 

Lord  C 's  answer  must  have  been  a  little  mortifying. 

"  I  knew,  my  dear,  that  you  would  come  sooner  or  later 
to  your  senses.  You  will  find  your  carriages  at  your 
coachmakers  and  your  plate  at  your  bankers." 

Mrs.  Evans,  nee  Sophia  Parnell,  the  aunt  of  both  these 
ladies,  and  a  great-aunt  of  Charles  Stewart  Parnell,  was, 
as  I  have  said,  our  nearest  neighbor  and  in  the  later 
years  of  my  life  at  Newbridge  my  very  kind  old  friend. 
For  a  long  time  political  differences  between  my  father 
and  her  husband —  George  Hampden  Evans,  M.  P.,  who 
had  managed  to  wrest  the  county  from  the  Tories  — 
kept  the  families  apart,  but  after  his  death  we  were 
pleasantly  intimate  for  many  years.  She  often  spoke 
to  me  of  the  Avondale  branch  of  her  family,  and  more 
than  once  said :  "  There  is  mischief  brewing !  I  am 
troubled  at  what  is  going  on  at  Avondale.  My  nephew's 
wife  "  (the  American  lady,  Delia  Stewart)  "has  a  hatred 
of  England,  and  is  educating  my  nephew,  like  a  little 
Hannibal,  to  hate  it  too !  "  How  true  was  her  foresight 
there  is  no  need  now  to  rehearse,  nor  how  near  that 
"  little  Hannibal  "  came  to  our  Borne  !  Charles  Parnell 
was  very  far  from  being  a  representative  Irishman.  He 
was  of  purely  English  extraction,  and  even  in  the  female 
line  had  no  drop  of  Irish  blood.  His  mother,  as  all  the 
world  knows,  was  an  American  ;  his  grandmother  was 
one  of  the  Howards  of  the  family  of  the  Earls  of  Wick- 
low,  his  great-grandmother  a  Brooke,  of  a  branch  of  the 
old  Cheshire  house ;  and,  beyond  this  lady  again,  his 
grand-dames  were  Wards  and  Whitsheds.  In  short, 
like  other  supposed  "  illustrious  Irishmen,"  —  Burke, 
Grattan,  Goldsmith,  and  Wellington,  —  Mr.  Barnell  was 


170  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

only  one  example  more  of  the  supremacy  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  intellect  in  every  land  of  its  adoption. 

Mrs.  Evans  had  known  Madame  de  Stael,  Condorcet, 
and  many  other  interesting  French  people  in  her  youth 
and  loved  the  Condorcets  warmly.  She  described  to  me 
a  stiff,  old-fashioned  dinner  at  which  she  had  been  pres- 
ent when  Madame  de  Stael  was  a  guest.  After  dinner, 
the  ladies,  having  retired  to  the  drawing-room,  sat  apart 
from  Madame  de  Stael  in  terror,  and  she  looked  them 
over  with  undisguised  contempt.  After  a  while  she  rose 
and,  without  asking  the  consent  of  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  rang  the  bell.  When  the  footman  appeared,  she 
delivered  the  startling  order :  "  Tell  the  gentlemen  to 
come  up  !  "  The  sensation  among  the  formal  and  scan- 
dalized ladies  upstairs,  and  the  gentlemen  just  settling 
down  to  their  usual  long  potations  below,  may  be  well 
imagined. 

When  her  husband  died,  Mrs.  Evans  built  in  his 
memory  a  fine  Round  Tower  on  the  plan  and  of  the 
size  of  the  best  of  the  old  Irish  towers.  It  stands  on 
high  ground  on  what  was  her  deer-park,  and  is  a  useful 
landmark  to  sailors  all  along  that  dangerous  coast, 
where  the  dreadful  wreck  of  the  Tayleur  took  place. 
On  the  shore  below,  under  the  lofty  black  cliffs,  are 
several  very  imposing  caverns.  In  the  largest  of  these, 
which  is  lighted  from  above  by  a  shaft,  Mrs.  Evans,  on 
one  occasion,  gave  a  great  luncheon  party,  at  which  I 
was  present.  The  company  were  all  in  high  spirits  and 
thoroughly  enjoying  the  pigeon-pies  and  champagne, 
when  some  one  observed  that  the  tide  might  soon  be 
rising.  Mrs.  Evans  replied  that  it  was  all  right,  there 
was  plenty  of  time,  and  the  festival  proceeded  for  an- 
other half-hour,  when  somebody  rose  and  strolled  to  the 
mouth  of  the  cavern  and  soon  uttered  a  cry  of  alarm. 
The  tide  had  risen,  and  was  already  beating  at  a  formid- 
able depth  against  both  sides  of  the  rocks  which  shut  in 
the  cave.     Consternation  of  course  reigned  among  the 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  171 

party.  A  night  spent  in  the  further  recesses  of  that 
damp  hole,  even  supposing  the  tide  did  not  reach  the 
end  (which  was  very  doubtful),  afforded  anything  but  a 
cheerful  prospect.  Could  anybody  get  up  through  the 
shaft  to  the  upper  cliff  ?  Certainly,  if  they  had  a  long 
ladder.  But  there  were  no  ladders  lying  about  the  cave ; 
and,  finally,  everybody  stood  mournfully  watching  the 
rising  waters  at  the  mouth  of  their  prison.  Mrs.  Evans 
all  this  time  appeared  singularly  calm,  and  administered 
a  little  encouragement  to  some  of  the  almost  fainting 
ladies.  When  the  panic  was  at  its  climax,  Mrs.  Evans' 
own  large  boat  was  seen  quietly  rounding  the  projecting 
rocks  and  was  soon  comfortably  pushed  up  to  the  feet 
of  the  imprisoned  party,  who  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
embark  in  two  or  three  detachments  and  be  safely  landed 
in  the  bay  outside,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  sea.  The 
whole  incident,  it  is  to  be  suspected,  had  been  pre- 
arranged by  the  hostess  to  infuse  a  little  wholesome 
excitement  among  her  country  guests. 

Our  small  village  church  at  Douabate  was  not  often 
honored  by  this  lady's  presence,  but  one  Sunday  she  saw 
fit  to  attend  service  with  some  visitors  ;  and  a  big  dog 
unluckily  followed  her  into  the  pew  and  lay  extended  on 
the  floor,  which  he  proceeded  to  beat  with  his  tail  after 
tbe  manner  of  impatient  dogs  under  durance.  This  dis- 
turbance was  too  much  for  the  poor  parson,  who  did  not 
love  Mrs.  Evans.  As  he  proceeded  with  the  service  and 
the  rappings  were  repeated  again  and  again,  his  patience 
gave  way,  and  he  read  out  this  extraordinary  lesson  to 
his  astonished  congregation  :  "  The  Pharisee  stood  and 
prayed  thus  with  himself.  Turn  out  that  dog,  if  you 
please !  It 's  extremely  wrong  to  bring  a  dog  into 
church."  During  the  winter  Mrs.  Evans  was  wont  to 
live  much  alone  in  her  country  house,  surrounded  only 
by  her  old  servants  and  multitudes  of  old  books.  When 
at  last,  in  old  age,  she  found  herself  attacked  by  mortal 
disease  she  went  to  Paris  to  profit  by  the  skill  of  some 


172  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

French  physician  in  whom  she  had  confidence,  and  there 
with  unshaken  courage  she  passed  away.  Her  remains, 
enclosed  in  a  leaden  coffin,  were  brought  back  to  Port- 
rane,  and  her  Irish  terrier,  who  adored  her,  somehow 
recognized  the  dreadful  chest  and  exhibited  a  frenzy  of 
grief:  leaping  upon  it  and  tearing  at  the  pall  with 
piteous  cries.  Next  morning,  strange  to  say,  the  poor 
brute  was,  with  six  others  about  the  place,  in  such  a 
state  of  excitement  as  to  be  supposed  to  be  rabid  and  it 
was  thought  necessary  to  shoot  them  all.  One  of  them 
leaped  the  gate  of  the  yard  and  escaping  bit  two  of  my 
father's  cows,  which  became  rabid,  and  were  shot  in  my 
presence.  Mrs.  Evans  was  buried  beside  her  beloved 
husband  in  the  little  roofless  and  ruined  church  of  Port- 
rane,  close  by  the  shore.  On  another  grave  in  the  same 
church  belonging  to  the  same  family,  a  dog  had  some 
years  previously  died  of  grief. 

A  brother  of  this  lady,  who  walked  over  often  to 
Newbridge  from  Portrane  to  bring  my  mother  some 
scented  broom  which  she  loved,  was  a  very  singular  and 
pathetic  character.  He  was  a  younger  brother  of  that 
sufficiently  astute  man  of  the  world,  Sir  Henry  Parnell, 
afterwards  Lord  Congleton,  but  was  his  antipodes  in 
disposition.  Thomas  Parnell,  "  Old  Tom  Parnell,"  as 
all  Dublin  knew  him  for  forty  years,  had  a  huge  un- 
gainly figure  like  Dr.  Johnson's,  and  one  of  the  sweet- 
est, softest  faces  ever  worn  by  mortal  man.  He  had,  at 
some  remote  and  long  forgotten  period,  been  seized  with 
a  fervent  and  self-denying  religious  enthusiasm  of  the 
ultra-Protestant  type ;  and  this  had  somehow  given 
birth  in  his  brain  to  a  scheme  for  arranging  texts  of  the 
Bible  in  a  mysterious  order  which,  when  completed, 
should  afford  infallible  answers  to  every  question  of  the 
human  mind !  To  construct  the  interminable  tables 
required  for  this  wonderful  plan,  poor  Tom  Parnell 
devoted  his  life  and  fortune.  For  years  which  must 
have   amounted  to   many  decades,  he   labored   at   the 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  173 

work  in  a  bare,  gloomy,  dusty  room  in  what  was  called 
a  "  Protestant  Office  "  in  Sackville  Street.  Money  went 
speedily  to  clerks  and  printers  ;  and  no  doubt  the  good 
man  (who  himself  lived,  as  he  used  to  say  laughingly, 
on  "  a  second-hand  bone  ")  gave  money  also  freely  in 
alms.  One  way  or  another  Mr.  Parnell  grew  poorer 
and  more  poor,  his  coat  looked  shabbier,  and  his  beauti- 
ful long  white  hair  more  obviously  in  need  of  a  barber. 
Once  or  twice  every  summer  he  was  prevailed  on  by  his 
sister  to  tear  himself  from  his  work  and  pay  her  a  few 
weeks'  visit  in  the  country  at  Portrane ;  and  to  her  and 
all  her  visitors  he  preached  incessantly  his  monotonous 
appeal :  "  Repent ;  and  cease  to  eat  good  dinners,  and 
devote  yourselves  to  compiling  texts  ! "  When  his  sis- 
ter —  who  had  treated  him  as  a  mother  would  treat  a 
silly  boy  —  died,  she  left  him  a  small  annuity,  to  be 
paid  to  him  weekly  in  dribblets  by  trustees,  lest  he 
should  spend  it  at  once  and  starve  if  he  received  it 
half-yearly.  After  this  epoch  he  worked  on  with  fewer 
interruptions  than  ever  at  his  dreary  text-books  in  that 
empty,  grimy  office.  Summer's  sun  and  winter's  snow 
were  alike  to  the  lonely  old  man.  He  ploughed  on  at 
his  hopeless  task.  There  was  no  probability  that  he 
should  live  to  fill  up  the  interminable  columns,  and  no 
apparent  reason  to  suppose  that  any  human  being  would 
use  the  books  if  he  ever  did  so  and  supposing  them  to 
be  printed.  But  still  he  labored  on.  Old  friends  —  my- 
self among  them  —  who  had  known  him  in  their  child- 
hood, looked  in  now  and  then  to  shake  hands  with  him, 
and,  noticing  how  pale  and  worn  and  aged  he  seemed, 
tried  to  induce  him  to  come  to  their  homes.  But  he 
only  exhorted  them  (like  Tolstoi,  whom  he  rather  re- 
sembled), as  usual,  to  repent  and  give  up  good  dinners 
and  help  him  with  his  texts,  and  denounced  wildly  all 
rich  people  who  lived  in  handsome  parks  with  mud  vil- 
lages at  their  gates,  as  he  said,  "  like  a  velvet  dress  with 
a  draggled  skirt."     Then,  when  his  visitor  had  departed, 


174  FRjINCES  power  cob  be. 

Mr.  Parnell  returned  patiently  to  his  interminable  texts. 
At  last  one  day,  late  in  the  autumn  twilight,  the  porter, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  shut  up  the  office,  entered  the  room 
and  found  the  old  man  sitting  quietly  in  the  chair  where 
he  had  labored  so  long  —  fallen  into  the  last  long  sleep. 

I  never  saw  much  of  Irish  society  out  of  our  own 
county.  Once,  when  I  was  eighteen,  my  father  and  I 
went  a  tour  of  visits  to  his  relations  in  Connaught,  trav- 
elling, as  was  necessary  in  those  days,  very  slowly  with 
post-horses  to  our  carriage,  my  maid  on  the  box,  and 
obliged  to  stop  at  inns  on  the  way.  Some  of  these  inns 
were  wretched  places.  I  remember  in  one  finding  a 
packet  of  letters  addressed  to  some  attorney,  under  my 
bolster !  At  another,  this  dialogue  took  place  between 
me  and  the  waiter  :  — 

"  What  can  we  have  for  dinner  ?  " 

"Anything  you  please,  ma'am.  Anything  you 
please." 

"  Well,  but  exactly  what  can  we  have  ?  " 

Waiter  (triumphantly) :  "  You  can  have  a  pair  of 
ducks." 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  Mr.  Cobbe  cannot  eat  ducks. 
What  else  ?  "  ' 

"  They  are  very  fine  ducks,  ma'am." 

"  I  dare  say.     But  what  else  ?  " 

"  You  might  have  the  ducks  boiled,  ma'am ! " 

"  No,  no.     Can  we  have  mutton  ?  " 

"  Well ;  not  mutton,  to-day,  ma'am." 

"  Some  beef  ?  " 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Some  veal  ?  " 

"  Not  any  veal,  I  'm  afraid." 

"Well,  then,  a  fowl  ?  " 

"  We  have  n't  got  a  fowl." 

"  What  on  earth  have  you  got,  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  ma'am,  I'm  afeared  if  you  won't  have 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  175 

the  fine  pair  of  ducks,  there 's  nothing  for  it  but  bacon 
and  eggs !  " 

We  went  first  to  Drnmcar,  and  next  (a  two  days'  drive) 
to  Moydrum  Castle,  which  then  belonged  to  my  father's 
cousin,  old  Lady  Castlemaine.  Another  old  cousin  in 
the  house  showed  me  where,  between  two  towers  covered 
with  ivy,  she  had  looked  one  dark  night  out  of  her  bed- 
room window  on  hearing  a  wailing  noise  below,  and  had 
seen  some  white  object  larger  than  any  bird,  floating 
slowly  up  and  then  sinking  down  into  the  shadow  below 
again,  and  yet  again.  Of  course  it  was  the  Banshee ; 
and  somebody  had  died  afterwards !  We  also  had  our 
Banshee  at  Newbridge  about  that  time.  One  stormy 
and  rainy  Sunday  night  in  October  my  father  was  read- 
ing a  sermon  as  usual  to  the  assembled  household,  and 
the  family,  gathered  near  the  fire  in  what  we  were  wont 
to  call  on  these  evenings  "  Sinner's  chair "  and  the 
"Seat  of  the  Scornful,"  were  rather  somnolent,  when 
the  most  piercing  and  unearthly  shrieks  arose  apparently 
just  outside  the  windows  in  the  pleasure  ground,  and 
startled  us  all  wide-awake.  At  the  head  of  the  row  of 
servants  sat  our  dear  old  housekeeper  "Joney,"  then 
the  head-gardener's  wife,  who  had  adopted  a  child  of 
three  years  old,  and  this  evening  had  left  him  fast  asleep 
in  the  housekeeper's  room,  which  was  under  part  of  the 
drawing-room.  Naturally  she  and  all  of  us  supposed 
that  "  Johnny "  had  wakened  and  was  screaming  on 
finding  himself  alone  ;  and  though  the  outcries  were  not 
like  those  of  a  child,  "  Joney  "  rose  and  hastily  passed 
down  the  room  and  went  to  look  after  her  charge.  To 
reach  the  housekeeper's  room  she  necessarily  passed  the 
servants'  hall,  and  out  of  it  rushed  the  coachman,  —  a 
big,  usually  red-faced  Englishman, — who  she  declared 
was  on  that  occasion  as  pale  as  death.  The  next  instant 
one  of  the  housemaids,  who  had  likewise  played  truant 
from  prayers,  came  tottering  down  from  a  bedroom  (so 
remote  that  I  have  always  wondered  how  any  noise 


176  FRslNCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

below  the  drawing-room  could  have  reached  it),  and 
sunk  fainting  on  a  chair.  The  little  boy  meanwhile 
was  sleeping  like  a  cherub  in  undisturbed  repose  in  a 
clothes  basket !  What  that  wild  noise  was  —  heard  by 
at  least  two  dozen  people  —  we  never  learned  and  some- 
how did  not  care  much  to  investigate. 

After  our  visit  at  Moydrum  my  father  and  I  went  to 
yet  other  cousins  at  Garbally,  his  mother's  old  home. 
At  that  time  —  I  speak  of  more  than  half  a  century  ago 
—  the  Clancarty  family  was  much  respected  in  Ireland ; 
and  the  household  at  Garbally  was  conducted  on  high 
religious  principles  and  in  a  very  dignified  manner.  It 
was  in  the  Forties  that  the  annual  Sheep  Fair  of  Balli- 
nasloe  was  at  its  best,  and  something  like  200,000  sheep 
were  then  commonly  herded  at  night  in  Garbally  Park. 
The  scene  of  the  Fair  was  described  as  curious,  but 
(like  a  stupid  young  prig,  as  I  must  have  been)  I  declined 
the  place  offered  me  in  one  of  the  carriages  and  stopped 
in  the  house  on  the  plea  of  a  cold,  but  really  to  enjoy  a 
private  hunt  in  the  magnificent  library  of  which  I  had 
caught  a  glimpse.  When  the  various  parties  came  back 
late  in  the  day  there  was  much  talk  of  a  droll  mishap. 
The  Marquis  of  Downshire  of  that  time,  who  was  stop- 
ping in  the  house,  was  a  man  of  colossal  strength,  and 
rumor  said  he  had  killed  two  men  by  accidental  blows 
intended  as  friendly.  However  this  may  be,  he  was  on 
this  occasion  overthrown  by  sheep  !  He  was  standing 
in  the  gangway  between  the  hurdles  in  the  great  fair, 
when  an  immense  flock  of  terrified  animals  rushed 
through,  overset  him,  and  trampled  him  under  their 
feet.  When  he  came  home,  laughing  good-humored ly 
at  his  disaster,  he  presented  a  marvellous  spectacle  with 
his  rather  voyant  light  costume  of  the  morning  in  a 
frightful  pickle.  Another  agreeable  man  in  the  house 
was  the  Lord  Devon  of  that  day,  a  very  able  and  cul- 
tivated man  (whom  I  straightway  interrogated  concern- 
ing  Gibbon's  chapter  on  the  Courtenays  !)  ;    and  poor 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  Ill 

Lord  Leitrim,  a  kindly  and  good  Irish  landlord,  after- 
wards most  cruelly  murdered.  There  were  also  the 
Ernes  and  Lord  Enniskillen  and  many  others  whom  I 
have  forgotten,  and  a  dear  aged  lady,  the  Marchioness 
of  Ormonde.  Hearing  I  had  a  cold,  she  kindly  proposed 
to  treat  me  medically  and  said :  "  I  should  advise  you 
to  try  brandy  and  salt.  For  my  own  part  I  take 
Morrison's  pills  whenever  I  am  ill,  if  I  cannot  get 
hydropathic  baths  ;  but  I  have  a  very  great  opinion  of 
Tar-water.      Holloway's    ointment    and   pills,  too,   are 

excellent.     My  son,  you  know,  joined  with  Mr. " 

(I  have  forgotten  the  name)  "to  pay  £15,000  to  St. 
John  Long  for  his  famous  recipe ;  but  it  turned  out  no 
good  when  we  had  it.  No !  I  advise  you  decidedly  to 
try  brandy  and  salt/' 

From  Garbally  we  drove  to  Parsonstown,  where  Lady 
Rosse  was  good  enough  to  welcome  us  to  indulge  my 
intense  longing  to  see  the  great  telescope,  then  quite 
recently  erected.  Lord  Rosse  at  that  time  believed  that, 
as  he  had  resolved  into  separate  stars  many  of  the 
nebulae  which  were  irresolvable  by  Herschel's  telescope, 
there  was  a  presumption  that  all  were  resolvable ;  and 
consequently  that  the  nebular  hypothesis  must  be 
abandoned.  The  later  discovery  of  gaseous  nebulas  by 
the  spectroscope  re-established  the  theory.  I  was  very 
anxious  on  the  subject,  having  pinned  my  faith  already 
on  the  "  Vestiges  of  Creation "  (then  a  new  book),  in 
sequence  to  Nichol's  "  Architecture  of  the  Heavens  ; " 
that  prose-poem  of  science.  Lord  Rosse  was  infinitely 
indulgent  to  my  girlish  curiosity,  and  took  me  to  see 
the  process  of  polishing  the  speculum  of  his  second 
telescope :  a  most  ingenious  piece  of  mechanism  in- 
vented mainly  by  himself.  He  also  showed  me  models 
which  he  had  made  in  plaster  of  lunar  craters.  I  saw 
the  great  telescope  by  day,  but,  alas,  when  darkness 
came  and  it  was  to  have  been  ready  for  me  to  look 
through  it,  and  I  was  trembling  with  anticipation,  the 


178  FRANCES   POWER    COBBE. 

butler  came  to  the  drawing-room  door  and  announced : 
"  A  rainy  night,  my  lord ! "  It  was  a  life-long  disap- 
pointment, for  we  could  not  stay  another  day  though 
hospitably  pressed  to  do  so  ;  and  I  never  had  another 
chance. 

Lord  Eosse  had  guessed  already  that  Eobert  Chambers 
was  the  author  of  the  "  Vestiges."  He  explained  to  me 
the  reason  for  the  enormous  mass  of  masonry  on  which 
the  seven-foot  telescope  rested,  by  the  curious  fact  that 
even  where  it  stood  within  his  park,  the  roll  of  a  cart 
more  than  two  miles  away,  outside,  was  enough  to  make 
the  ground  tremble  and  to  disturb  the  observation. 

There  was  a  romantic  story  then  current  in  Ireland 
about  Lord  and  Lady  Eosse.  It  was  said  that,  as  a 
young  man,  he  had  gone  incog,  and  worked  as  a  handi- 
craftsman in  some  large  foundry  in  the  north  of  England 
to  learn  the  secrets  of  machine  making.  After  a  time, 
his  employer,  considering  him  a  peculiarly  promising 
young  artisan,  invited  him  occasionally  to  a  Sunday 
family  dinner  when  young  Lord  Parsons,  as  he  then 
was,  speedily  fell  in  love  with  his  host's  daughter. 
Observing  what  was  going  on,  the  father  put  a  veto  on 
what  he  thought  would  be  a  mesalliance  for  Miss  Green, 
and  the  supposed  artisan  left  his  employment  and  the 
country ;  but  not  without  receiving  from  the  young 
lady  an  assurance  that  she  returned  his  attachment. 
Shortly  afterwards,  having  gone  home  and  obtained  his 
father,  Lord  Eosse's  consent,  he  re-appeared  and  now 
made  his  proposals  to  Mr.  Green,  pere,  in  all  due  form 
as  the  heir  of  a  good  estate  and  an  earldom.  He  was 
not  rejected  this  time. 

I  tell  this  story  only  as  a  pretty  one  current  when  I 
saw  Lord  and  Lady  Eosse  :  a  very  happy  and  united 
couple  with  little  children  who  have  since  grown  to  be 
distinguished  men.  Very  possibly  it  may  be  only  a 
myth  ! 

I  never  saw  Archbishop  Whately  except  when  he  con- 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  179 

firmed  me  in  the  church  of  Malahide.  He  was  no 
doubt  a  sincerely  pious  man,  but  his  rough  and  irrever- 
ent manner  (intended,  I  believe,  as  a  protest  against  the 
Pecksniffian  tone  then  common  among  evangelical  dig- 
nitaries) was  almost  repulsive  and  certainly  startling. 
Outside  his  palace  in  Stephen's  Green  there  was  at  that 
time  a  row  of  short  columns  connected  from  top  to  top 
by  heavy  chains  which  fell  in  festoons  and  guarded  the 
gardens  of  the  square.  Nothing  would  serve  his  Grace 
(we  were  told  with  horror  by  the  spectators)  than  to  go 
of  a  morning  after  breakfast  and  sit  on  these  chains 
smoking  his  cigar  as  he  swung  gently  back  and  forth, 
kicking  the  ground  to  gain  impetus. 

On  the  occasion  of  my  confirmation  he  exhibited  one 
of  his  whims  most  unpleasantly  for  me.  This  was,  that 
he  must  actually  touch,  in  his  episcopal  benediction,  the 
head,  not  merely  the  hair,  of  the  kneeling  catechumen. 
Unhappily,  my  maid  had  not  foreseen  this  contingency, 
but  had  thought  she  could  not  have  a  finer  opportunity 
for  displaying  her  skill  in  plaiting  my  redundant  locks  ; 
and  had  built  up  such  an  edifice  with  plaits  and  pins 
(on  the  part  of  my  head  which  necessarily  came  under 
the  Archbishop's  hand)  that  he  had  much  ado  to  over- 
throw the  same  !  He  did  so,  however,  effectually ;  and 
I  finally  walked  back,  through  the  church  to  my  pew, 
with  all  my  chevelure  hanging  down  in  disorder,  far 
from  "  admired  "  by  me  or  anybody. 

Of  all  the  phases  of  orthodoxy  I  think  that  of 
Whately  —  well  called  the  Hard  Church  —  was  the  last 
which  I  could  have  adopted  at  any  period  of  my  life.  It 
was  obviously  his  view  that  a  chain  of  propositions  might 
be  constructed  by  iron  logic,  beginning  with  the  record 
of  a  miracle  two  thousand  years  ago  and  ending  with 
unavoidable  conversion  to  the  love  of  God  and  Man  ! 

The  last  person  of  whom  I  shall  speak  as  known  to 
me  first  in  Ireland  was  that  dear  and  noble  woman, 
Fanny  Kemble.     She  has  not  mentioned  in  her  delight- 


180  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

ful  Records  how  our  acquaintance,  destined  to  ripen 
into  a  life-long  friendship,  began  at  Newbridge,  but  it 
was  in  a  droll  and  characteristic  way. 

Mrs.  Kemble's  friend  "  H.  S."  —  Harriet  St.  Leger  — 
lived  at  Ardgillan  Castle,  eight  Irish  miles  from  New- 
bridge. Her  sister,  the  wife  of  Hon.  and  Rev.  Edward 
Taylor  and  mother  of  the  late  Tory  Whip,  was  my 
mother's  best-liked  neighbor,  and  at  an  early  age  I  was 
taught  to  look  with  respect  on  the  somewhat  singular 
figure  of  Miss  St.  Leger.  In  those  days  any  departure 
from  the  conventional  dress  of  the  time  was  talked  of 
as  if  it  were  altogether  the  most  important  fact  con- 
nected with  a  woman,  no  matter  what  might  be  the 
greatness  of  her  character  or  abilities.  Like  her  con- 
temporaries and  fellow  countrywomen,  the  Ladies  of 
Llangollen  (also  Irish),  Harriet  St.  Leger  early  adopted 
a  costume  consisting  of  a  riding  habit  (in  her  case  with 
a  skirt  of  sensible  length)  and  a  black  beaver  hat.  All 
the  empty-headed  men  and  women  in  the  county  prated 
incessantly  about  these  inoffensive  garments,  insomuch 
that  I  arrived  early  at  the  conviction  that,  rational  and 
convenient  as  such  dress  would  be,  the  game  was  not 
worth  the  candle.  Things  are  altered  so  far  now  that, 
could  dear  Harriet  reappear,  I  believe  the  universal 
comment  on  her  dress  would  rather  be :  "  How  sensible 
and  befitting!"  rather  than  the  silly,  "How  odd  ! ': 
Anyway  I  imagine  she  must  have  afforded  a  somewhat 
singular  contrast  to  her  ever  magnificent,  not  to  say 
gorgeous,  friend  Fanny  Kemble,  when  at  the  great 
Exhibition  of  1851  they  were  the  observed  of  observ- 
ers, sitting  for  a  long  time  side  by  side  close  to  the 
crystal  fountain. 

Every  reader  of  the  charming  "  Records  of  a  Girlhood  " 
and  "  Recollections  of  Later  Life,"  must  have  felt  some 
curiosity  about  the  personality  of  the  friend  to  whom 
those  letters  of  our  English  Sevigne  were  addressed. 
I  have  before  me  as  I  write  an  excellent  reproduction 


IRELAND  IN   THE  FORTIES.  181 

in  platinotype  from  a  daguerreotype  of  herself  which 
dear  Harriet  gave  me  some  twenty  years  ago.  The 
pale,  kind,  sad  face  is  I  think  inexpressibly  touching ; 
and  the  woman  who  wore  it  deserved  all  the  affection 
which  Fanny  Kemble  gave  her.  She  was  a  deep  and 
singularly  critical  thinker  and  reader,  and  had  one  of 
the  warmest  hearts  which  ever  beat  under  a  cold  and 
shy  exterior.  The  iridescent  genius  of  Fanny  Kemble 
in  the  prime  of  her  splendid  womanhood  and  my  poor 
young  soul,  over-burdened  with  thoughts  too  great  and 
difficult  for  me,  were  equally  drawn  to  seek  her  sym- 
pathy. 

It  happened  once,  somewhere  in  the  early  Fifties, 
that  Mrs.  Kemble  was  paying  a  visit  to  Miss  St.  Leger 
at  Ardgillan,  and  we  arranged  that  she  should  bring  her 
over  some  day  to  Newbridge  to  luncheon.  I  was,  of 
course,  prepared  to  receive  my  guest  very  cordially,  but, 
to  my  astonishment,  when  Mrs.  Kemble  entered  she 
made  me  the  most  formal  salutation  conceivable  and, 
after  being  seated,  answered  all  my  small  politenesses 
in  monosyllables  and  with  obvious  annoyance  and  dis- 
inclination to  converse  with  me  or  with  any  of  my 
friends  whom  I  presented  to  her.  Something  was  evi- 
dently frightfully  amiss,  and  Harriet  perceived  it ;  but 
what  could  it  be  ?  What  could  be  done  ?  Happily  the 
gong  sounded  for  luncheon,  and,  my  father  being  absent, 
my  eldest  brother  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Kemble  and 
led  her,  walking  with  more  than  her  usual  stateliness 
across  the  two  halls  to  the  dining-room,  where  he  placed 
her,  of  course,  beside  himself.  I  was  at  the  other  end 
of  the  table  but  I  heard  afterwards  all  that  occurred. 
We  were  a  party  of  eighteen,  and  naturally  the  long 
table  had  a  good  many  dishes  on  it  in  the  old  fashion. 
My  brother  looked  over  it  and  asked  :  "  What  will  you 
take,  Mrs.  Kemble  ?  Roast  fowl  ?  or  galantine  ?  or  a 
little  Mayonnaise,  or  what  else  ? "  "  Thank  you," 
replied  Mrs.  Kemble,  "  if  there  be  a  potato  I  " 


182  FBANCES  POWER    COB  BE. 

Of  course  there  was  a  potato  —  nay,  several ;  but  a 
terrible  gene  hung  over  us  all  till  Miss  Taylor  hurriedly 
called  for  her  carriage,  and  the  party  drove  off. 

The  moment  they  left  the  door  after  our  formal  fare- 
wells, Harriet  St.  Leger  (as  she  afterwards  told  me) 
fell  on  her  friend :  "  Well,  Fanny,  never,  never  will  I 
bring  you  anywhere  again.  How  could  you  behave  so 
to  Fanny  Cobbe  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  permit  any  one,"  said  Mrs.  Kemble,  "  to 
invite  a  number  of  people  to  meet  me  without  having 
asked  my  consent ;  I  do  not  choose  to  be  made  a  gazing- 
stock  to  the  county.  Miss  Cobbe  had  got  up  a  regular 
party  of  all  those  people,  and  you  could  see  the  room 
was  decorated  for  it." 

"  Good  Heavens,  what  are  you  talking  of  ? "  said 
Harriet ;  "  those  ladies  and  gentlemen  are  all  her  rela- 
tions, stopping  in  the  house.  She  could  not  turn  them 
out  because  you  were  coming,  and  her  room  is  always 
full  of  flowers." 

"  Is  that  really  so  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Kemble.  "  Then  you 
shall  tell  Fanny  Cobbe  that  I  ask  her  pardon  for  my 
bad  behavior,  and  if  she  will  forgive  me  and  come  to 
see  me  in  London,  /  will  never  behave  badly  to  her 
again  !  " 

In  a  letter  of  hers  to  Harriet  St.  Leger  given  to  me 
after  her  death,  I  was  touched  to  read  the  following 
reference  to  this  droll  incident :  — 

Bilton  Hotel,  Wed.  9th. 

I  am  interrupted  by  a  perfect  bundle  of  fragrance  and 
fresh  color  sent  by  Miss  Cobbe  with  a  note  in  which, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  she  gives  me  very  little  hope  of  see- 
ing her  at  all  while  I  am  in  Dublin.  This,  as  you  know, 
is  a  real  disappointment  to  me.  I  had  rather  fallen  in 
love  with  her,  and  wished  very  much  to  have  had  some 
opportunity  of  more  intercourse  with  her.  Her  face 
when  I  came  to  talk  to  her  seemed  to  me   keen  and 


IRELAND  IN    THE  FORTIES.  183 

sweet  —  a  charming  combination  —  and  I  was  so  grate- 
ful to  her  for  not  being  repelled  by  my  ungracious 
demeanor  at  her  house,  that  I  had  quite  looked  forward 
to  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  again. 

F.  A.  K. 

I  did  go  to  see  her  in  London ;  and  she  kept  her  word, 
and  was  my  dear  and  affectionate  friend  and  bore  many 
things  from  me  with  perfect  good  humor,  for  forty 
years  ;  including  (horrible  to  recall !)  my  falling  fast 
asleep  while  she  was  reading  Shakespeare  to  Mary 
Lloyd  and  me  in  our  drawing-room  here  at  Hengwrt! 
Among  her  many  kindnesses  was  the  gift  of  a  mass  of 
her  Correspondence  from  the  beginning  of  her  theatri- 
cal career  in  1821  to  her  last  years.  She  also  succes- 
sively gave  me  the  MSS.  of  all  her  Records,  but  in  each 
case  I  induced  her  to  take  them  back  and  publish  them 
herself.  I  have  now,  as  a  priceless  legacy,  a  large  par- 
cel of  her  own  letters,  and  five  thick  volumes  of  auto- 
graph letters  addressed  to  her  by  half  the  celebrated 
men  and  women  of  her  time.  They  testify  uniformly 
to  the  admiration,  affection,  and  respect  wherewith  — 
her  little  foibles  notwithstanding  —  she  was  regarded 
by  three  generations. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

UPROOTED. 

I  draw  now  to  the  closing  years  of  my  life  at  New- 
bridge, after  I  had  published  my  first  book  and  before 
my  father  died.  They  were  happy  and  peaceful  years, 
though  gradually  overshadowed  by  the  sense  that  the 
long  tenure  of  that  beloved  home  must  soon  end.  It  is 
one  of  the  many  perversities  of  woman's  destiny  that 
she  is,  not  only  by  hereditary  instinct  a  home-making 
animal,  but  is  encouraged  to  the  uttermost  to  centre  all 
her  interests  in  her  home;  every  pursuit  which  would 
give  her  anchorage  elsewhere  (always  excepting  mar- 
riage) being  more  or  less  under  general  disapproval. 
Yet  when  the  young  woman  takes  thoroughly  to  this 
natural  home-making,  when  she  has,  like  a  plant,  sent 
her  roots  down  into  the  cellars  and  her  tendrils  up  into 
the  garrets,  and  every  room  bears  the  impress  of  her  per- 
sonality, when  she  glories  in  every  good  picture  on  the 
walls  or  bit  of  choice  china  on  the  tables  and  blushes 
for  every  stain  on  the  carpets,  when,  in  short  her  home 
is,  as  it  should  be,  her  outer  garment,  her  nest,  her 
shell,  fitted  to  her  like  that  of  a  murex,  then,  almost 
invariably  comes  to  her  the  order  to  leave  it  all,  tear 
herself  out  of  it,  —  and  go  to  make  (if  she  can)  some 
other  home  elsewhere.  Supposing  her  to  have  married 
early,  and  that  she  is  spared  the  late  uprooting  from 
her  father's  house  at  his  death,  she  has  usually  to 
bear  a  similar  transition  when  she  survives  her  hus- 
band ;  and  in  this  case  often  with  the  failing  health 
and  spirits  of  old  age.     I  do  not  know  how  these  heart- 


UPROOTED.  185 

breaks  are  to  be  spared  to  women  of  the  class  of  the 
daughters  and  wives  of  country  gentlemen  or  clergymen ; 
but  they  are  hard  to  bear.  Perhaps  the  most  fortunate 
daughters  (harsh  as  it  seems  to  say  so)  are  those  whose 
fathers  die  while  they  are  themselves  still  in  full  vigor 
and  able  to  begin  a  new  existence  with  spirit  and  make 
new  friends ;  as  was  my  case.  Some  of  my  contempo- 
raries whose  fathers  lived  till  they  were  fifty,  or  even 
older,  had  a  bitterer  trial  in  quitting  their  homes  and 
were  never  able  to  start  afresh. 

In  my  last  few  years  at  Newbridge  my  father  and  I 
were  both  cheered  by  the  frequent  presence  of  my  dear 
little  niece,  Helen,  on  whom  he  doted  and  towards 
whom  flowed  out  the  tenderness  which  had  scarcely 
been  allowed  its  free  course  with  his  own  children. 
VArt  d'etre  Grandpere  is  surely  the  most  beautiful  of 
arts  !  When  all  personal  pleasures  have  pretty  well 
died  away  then  begins  the  reflected  pleasure  in  the 
fresh,  innocent  delights  of  the  child;  a  moonlight  of 
happiness  perhaps  more  sweet  and  tender  than  the  gar- 
ish joys  of  the  noontide  of  life.  To  me,  who  had 
never  lived  in  a  house  with  little  children,  it  brought 
a  whole  world  of  revelations  to  have  this  babe,  and 
afterwards  her  little  sister,  in  a  nursery  under  my 
supervision  during  their  mother's  long  illnesses.  I 
understood  for  the  first  time  all  that  a  child  may  be  in 
a  woman's  life,  and  how  their  little  hands  may  pull  our 
heartstrings.  My  nieces  were  dear,  good  little  babes 
then ;  they  are  dear  and  good  women  now ;  the  comfort 
of  my  age,  as  they  were  the  darlings  of  my  middle  life. 

Having  received  sufficient  encouragement  from  the 
succes  d'estime  of  my  "Theory  of  Intuitive  Morals,"  I 
proceeded  now  to  write  the  first  of  the  three  books  on 
"  Practical  Morals  "  with  which  I  designed  to  complete 
the  work.  My  volume  of  "  Religious  Duty,"  then  writ- 
ten, has  proved,  however,  the  only  one  of  the  series  ever 
published.     At  a  later  time  I  wrote  some  chapters  on 


186  FR.1NCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Personal  and  on  Social  Duty,  but  was  dissatisfied  with 

them,  and  destroyed  the  MSS. 

As   "  Religious  Duty "   (third  edition)  is  still  to  be 

had  (included  by  Mr.  Fisher  Unwin  in  his  late  re-issue 

of  my  principal  works),  I  need  not  trouble  the  reader 

by  any  such  analysis  of  it  as  I  have  given  of  the  former 

volume.     In  writing  concerning  "Religious  Duty"  at 

the  time,  I  find  in  a  letter  of  mine  to  Harriet  St.  Leger 

(returned  to  me  when  she  grew  blind)  that  I  spoke  of 

it  thus  :  — 

Newbridge,  April  25th,  1857. 

You  see  I  have,  after  all,  inserted  a  little  preface.  I 
thought  it  necessary  to  explain  the  object  of  the  book, 
lest  it  might  seem  superfluous  where  it  coincides  with 
orthodox  teaching,  and  offensively  daring  where  it  diver- 
ges from  it.  Your  cousin's  doubt  about  my  Christianity 
lasting  till  she  reached  the  end  of  "  Intuitive  Morals," 
made  me  resolve  to  forestall  in  this  case  any  such  dan- 
ger of  seeming  to  fight  without  showing  my  colors.  You 
see  I  have  now  nailed  them  mast-high.  But  though  I 
have  done  this,  I  cannot  say  that  it  has  been  in  any  way 
to  make  converts  to  my  own  creed  that  I  have  written 
this  book.  I  wanted  to  show  those  who  are  already 
Theists,  actually  or  approximately,  that  Theism  is 
something  far  more  than  they  seem  commonly  to 
understand.  I  wanted,  too,  to  show  to  those  who 
have  had  their  historical  faith  shaken,  but  who  still 
cling  to  it  from  the  belief  that  without  it  no  real 
religion  is  possible,  that  they  may  find  all  which  their 
hearts  can  need  in  a  faith  purely  intuitive.  Perhaps 
I  ought  rather  to  say  that  these  objects  have  been 
before  me  in  working  at  my  book.  I  suppose  in  reality 
the  impulse  to  such  an  undertaking  comes  more 
simply.  We  think  we  have  found  some  truths,  and 
we  long  to  develop  and  communicate  them.  We  do 
not  sit  down  and  say,  "  Such  and  such  sort  of  people 
want  such  and  such  a  book.     I  will  try  and  write  it." 


UPROOTED.  187 

The  plan  of  this  book  is  simple.  After  discussing  in 
the  first  chapter  the  Canon  of  Religious  Duty,  which 
I  define  to  be  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with 
all  thine  heart  and  soul  and  strength/'  —  I  discuss,  in 
the  next  chapter,  Religious  Offences  against  that  Law 
—  Blasphemy,  Hypocrisy,  Perjury,  etc.  The  third 
chapter  deals  with  Religious  Faults  (failures  of  duty) 
such  as  Thahklessness,  Irreverence,  Worldliness,  etc. 
The  fourth,  which  constitutes  the  main  bulk  of  the 
book,  consists  of  what  are  practically  six  sermons 
on  Thanksgiving,  Adoration,  Prayer,  Repentance,  Faith, 
and  Self-Consecration. 

The  book  has  been  very  much  liked  by  some  readers, 
especially  the  chapter  on  Thanksgiving,  which  I  re- 
printed later  in  a  tiny  volume.  It  is  strange  in  these 
days  of  pessimism  to  read  it  again.  I  am  glad  I  wrote 
it  when  my  heart  was  unchilled,  my  sight  un dimmed, 
by  the  frozen  fog  which  has  been  hanging  over  us  for 
the  last  two  decades.  An  incident  connected  with  this 
chapter  touched  me  deeply.  My  father  in  his  last 
illness  permitted  it  to  be  read  to  him.  Having  never 
before  listened  to  anything  I  had  written,  and  having, 
even  then,  no  idea  who  wrote  the  book,  he  expressed 
pleasure  and  sympathy  with  it,  especially  with  a  pas- 
sage in  which  I  speak  of  the  hope  of  being  in  the 
future  life  "  young  again  in  all  that  makes  childhood 
beautiful  and  holy."  It  was  a  pledge  to  me  of  how 
near  our  hearts  truly  were,  under  apparently  world-wide 
differences. 

My  father  was  now  sinking  slowly  beneath  the  weight 
of  years  and  of  frequent  returns  of  the  malarial  fever  of 
India  —  in  those  days  called  "  Ague  "  —  which  he 
had  caught  half  a  century  before  in  the  Mahratta  wars. 
I  have  said  something  already  of  his  powerful  charac- 
ter, his  upright,  honorable,  fearless  nature ;  his  strong 
sense  of  Duty.  Of  the  lower  sort  of  faults  and  vices 
he  was  absolutely  incapable.     No  one  who  knew  him 


188  FBANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

could  imagine  him  as  saying  a  false  or  prevaricating 
word  ;  of  driving  a  hard  bargain  ;  of  eating  or  drinking 
beyond  the  strictest  rules  of  temperance  ;  least  of  all, 
of  faithlessness  in  thought  or  deed  to  his  wife  or  her 
memory.  His  mistakes  and  errors,  such  as  they  were, 
arose  solely  from  a  fiery  temper  and  a  despotic  will, 
nourished  rather  than  checked  by  his  ideas  concerning 
the  rights  of  parents  and  husbands,  masters  and  em- 
ployers ;  and  from  his  narrow  religious  creed.  Such 
as  he  was,  every  one  honored,  some  feared,  and  many 
loved  him. 

Before  I  pass  on  to  detail  more  of  the  incidents  of 
my  own  life,  I  shall  here  narrate  all  that  I  can  recall  of 
his  descriptions  of  the  most  important  occurrence  in  his 
career  —  the  battle  of  Assaye. 

In  Mr.  George  Hooper's  delightful  "  Life  of  Welling- 
ton "  (English  Men  of  Action  Series)  there  is  a  spirited 
account  of  that  battle  whereby  British  supremacy  in  In- 
dia was  practically  secured.  Mr.  Hooper  speaks  enthu- 
siastically of  the  behavior,  in  that  memorable  fight,  of 
the  19th  Light  Dragoons,  and  of  its  "  splendid  charge," 
which,  with  the  "  irresistible  sweep  "  of  the  78th,  proved 
the  "  decisive  stroke  "  of  the  great  day.  He  describes 
this  charge  thus  :  — 

.  .  .  "  The  piquets,  or  leading  troops  on  the  right, 
were  by  mistake  led  off  towards  Assaye,  uncovering  the 
second  line,  and  falling  themselves  into  a  deadly  con- 
verging fire.  The  Seventy-Fourth  followed  the  piquets 
into  the  cannonade,  and  a  great  gap  was  thus  made  in 
the  array.  The  enemy's  horse  rode  up  to  charge,  and 
so  serious  was  the  peril  on  the  right  that  the  Nine- 
teenth Light  Dragoons  and  a  native  cavalry  regiment 
were  obliged  to  charge  at  once.  Eager  for  the  fray, 
they  galloped  up,  cheering  as  they  went,  and  cheered  by 
the  wounded ;  and,  riding  home,  even  to  the  batteries, 
saved  the  remnants  of  the  piquets  and  of  the  Seventy- 
Fourth."     (P.  76.) 


UPBOOTED.  189 

My  father,  then  a  cornet  in  the  regiment,  carried  the 
regimental  flag  of  the  Nineteenth  through  that  charge, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  day ;  the  non-commissioned  offi- 
cer whose  duty  it  was  to  bear  it  having  been  struck 
dead  at  the  first  onset,  and  my  father  saving  the  flag 
from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Mahrattas. 

The  Nineteenth  Light  Dragoons  of  that  epoch  wore  a 
gray  uniform,  and  heavy  steel  helmets  with  large  red 
plumes,  which  caused  the  Mahrattas  to  nickname  them 
"  The  Red  Headed  Rascals."  On  their  shoulders  were 
simple  epaulettes  made  of  chains  of  some  common  white 
metal,  one  of  which  I  retrieved  from  a  heap  of  rubbish 
fifty  years  after  Assaye,  and  still  wear  as  a  bracelet.  The 
men  could  scarcely  have  deserved  the  name  of  Light  if 
many  of  them  weighed,  as  did  my  father  at  eighteen,  no 
less  than  eighteen  stone,  inclusive  of  his  saddle  and 
accoutrements  !  The  fashion  of  long  hair,  tied  in  "  pig- 
tails," still  prevailed ;  and  my  father  often  laughingly 
boasted  that  the  mass  of  his  fair  hair,  duly  tied  with 
black  ribbon,  had  descended  far  enough  to  reach  his  sad- 
dle and  to  form  an  efficient  protection  from  sabre  cuts 
on  his  back  and  shoulders.  Mr.  Hooper  estimates  the 
total  number  of  the  British  army  at  Assaye  at  5,000  ;  my 
father  used  to  speak  of  it  as  about  4,500 ;  while  the  cav- 
alry alone  of  the  enemy  were  some  30,000.  The  infan- 
try were  seemingly  innumerable,  and  altogether  covered 
the  plain.  There  was  also  a  considerable  force  of  artil- 
lery on  Scindias'  side,  and  commanding  them  was  a 
French  officer  whose  name  my  father  repeatedly  men- 
tioned, but  which  I  have  unfortunately  forgotten.1    The 

1  Mr.  Hutton.  whose  exceedingly  interesting  and  brilliant  Life  of  the 
Marquess  of  Wellesley  (in  the  Rulers  of  India  series)  includes  an  account 
of  the  whole  campaign,  has  been  so  kind  as  to  endeavor  to  identify  this 
Frenchman  forme,  and  tells  me  that  in  a  note  to  Wellington's  Despatches, 
vol.  ii.  p.  324,  it  is  given  as  Dupont;  Wellington  speaking  of  him  as  com- 
manding a  "brigade  of  infantry."  My  father  certainly  spoke  of  him  or 
some  other  Frenchman  as  commanding  Scindias'  artillery.  Mr.  Hutton 
has  also  been  good  enough  to  refer  me  to  Grant  Duff's  History  of  the  Mah- 


190  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

handful  of  English  troops  had  done  a  full  day's  march 
under  an  Indian  sun  before  the  battle  began.  When  the 
Nineteenth  received  orders  to  charge  they  had  been  sit- 
ting long  on  their  horses  in  a  position  which  left  them 
exposed  to  the  ricochet  of  the  shot  of  the  enemy,  and  the 
strain  on  the  discipline  of  the  men,  as  one  after  another 
was  picked  off,  had  been  enormous  ;  not  to  prevent  them 
from  retreating  —  they  had  no  such  idea  —  but  to  stop 
them  from  charging  without  orders.  At  last  the  word 
of  command  to  charge  came  from  Wellesley,  and  the 
whole  regiment  responded  with  a  roar!  Then  came 
the  fire  of  death  and  men  and  officers  fell  all  around,  as 
it  seemed  almost  every  second  man.  Among  the  rest, 
as  I  have  said,  the  color-sergeant  was  struck  down,  and 
my  father,  as  was  his  duty,  seized  the  flag  from  the  poor 
fellow's  hands  as  he  fell  and  carried  it,  waving  in  front 
of  the  regiment,  up  to  the  guns  of  the  enemy. 

In  one  or  other  of  the  repeated  charges  which  the 
Nineteenth  continued  to  make  even  after  their  com- 
manding officer,  Colonel  Maxwell,  had  been  killed,  my 
father  found  himself  in  hand  to  hand  conflict  with  the 
French  General,  who  was  in  command  of  the  Mahratta 
artillery.  He  wore  an  ordinary  uniform  and  my  father, 
having  struck  him  with  his  sabre  at  the  back  of  his 
neck,  expected  to  see  terrible  results  from  the  blow  of  a 
hand  notorious  all  his  life  for  its  extraordinary  strength. 
But  fortunately  the  General  had  prudently  included  a 
coat  of  armor  under  his  uniform  ;  and  the  blow  only  re- 
sulted in  a  considerable  dent  in  the  blade  of  my  father's 
sabre :  a  dent  which  (in  Biblical  language)  "  may  be 
seen  unto  this  day,"  where  the  weapon  hangs  in  the 
study  at  Newbridge. 

At  another  period  of  this  awful  battle  the  young  Cor- 
net dismounted  beside  a  stream  to  drink,  and  to  allow 

raltas,  vol.  iii.  p.  240,  with  regard  to  the  number  of  British  troops 
engaged  at  Assaye.  He  (Mr.  Grant  Duff)  says  the  handful  of  British 
troops  did  not  exceed  4,500,  as  my  father  also  estimated  them. 


UPROOTED.  191 

his  horse  to  do  the  same.  While  so  occupied,  Colonel 
Wellesley  came  up  to  follow  his  example,  and  they  con- 
versed for  a  few  minutes  while  dipping  their  hands  and 
faces  in  the  brook  (or  river).  As  they  did  so,  there 
slowly  oozed  down  upon  them,  trickling  through  the  wa- 
ter, a  streamlet  of  blood.  Of  course  they  both  turned 
away  in  horror  and  remounted  to  return  to  the  battle. 

At  last  the  tremendous  struggle  was  over.  An  army 
of  4,500  or  5,000  tired  English  troops  had  routed  five 
times  as  many  horsemen  and  perhaps  twenty  times  as 
many  infantry  of  the  Avarlike  Mahrattas.  The  field  was 
clear  and  the  English  flag  waved  over  the  English  Mar- 
athon. 

After  this  the  poor,  wearied  soldiers  were  compelled 
to  ride  back  ten  miles  to  camp  for  the  night ;  and  when 
they  reached  their  ground  and  dismounted,  many  of 
them  —  my  father  among  the  rest  —  fell  on  the  earth 
and  slept  Avhere  they  lay.  Next  morning  they  marched 
back  to  the  field  of  Assaye,  and  the  scene  Avhich  met 
their  eyes  Avas  one  which  no  lapse  of  years  could  efface 
from  memory.  The  pomp  and  glory  and  joy  of  victory 
Avere  past ;  the  horror  of  it  Avas  before  them  in  mangled 
corpses  of  men  and  horses,  over  which  hung  clouds  of 
flies  and  vultures.  Fourteen  officers  of  his  oavii  regi- 
ment, Avhose  last  meal  on  earth  he  had  shared  in  conviv- 
ial merriment,  my  father  saAV  buried  together  in  one 
grave.  Then  the  band  of  the  regiment  played  "  The 
Rose  Tree  "  and  the  men  marched  aAvay  with  set  faces. 
Long  years  afterAvards  I  happened  to  play  that  old  air 
on  the  piano,  but  my  father  stopped  me.  "Do  not  play 
that  tune,  pray  !  I  cannot  bear  the  memories  it  brings 
to  me." 

After  Assaye  my  father  fought  at  Argaon  (or  Ar- 
gaum),  a  battle  which  Mr.  Turner  describes  as  "  even 
more  decisive  than  the  last ;  "  and  on  December  14th 
he  joined  in  the  terrific  storming  of  the  great  fortress 
of  GaAviljarh,  Avith  which  the  Avar  in  the  Deccan  termi- 


192  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

nated.    He   received  medals  for  Assaye  and  Argaum, 
just  fifty  years  after  those  battles  were  fought ! 

After  his  return  from  India,  my  father  remained  at 
his  mother's  house  in  Bath  till  1809,  when  he  married 
my  clear  mother,  then  living  with  her  guardians  close 
by,  at  29,  Royal  Crescent;  and  brought  her  to  New- 
bridge, where  they  both  lived,  as  I  have  described,  with 
few  and  short  interruptions  till  she  died  in  October, 
1817,  and  he  in  November,  1857.  For  all  that  half  cen- 
tury he  acted  nobly  the  part  to  which  he  was  called,  of 
landlord,  magistrate,  and  head  of  a  family.  There  was 
nothing  in  him  of  the  ideal  Irish,  fox-hunting,  happy- 
go-lucky,  much  indebted  Squire.  There  never  was  a 
year  in  his  life  in  which  every  one  of  his  bills  was  not 
settled.  His  books,  piled  on  his  study  table,  showed 
the  regular  payment,  week  by  week,  of  all  his  laborers 
for  fifty  years.  No  quarter  day  passed  without  every 
servant  in  the  house  receiving  his,  or  her,  wages.  So 
far  was  Newbridge  from  a  Castle  Rackrent  that  though 
much  in  it  of  the  furniture  and  decorations  belonged  to 
the  previous  century,  everything  was  kept  in  perfect 
order  and  repair  in  the  house  and  in  the  stables,  coach- 
houses, and  beautiful  old  garden.  Punctuality  reigned 
under  the  old  soldier's  regime;  clocks  and  bells  and 
gongs  sounded  regularly  for  prayers  and  meals ;  and 
dinner  was  served  sharply  to  the  moment.  I  should 
indeed  be  at  a  loss  to  say  in  what  respect  my  father 
betrayed  his  Anglo-Irish  race,  if  it  were  not  his  high 
spirit. 

At  last,  the  long,  good  life  drew  to  its  end  in  peace. 
I  have  found  a  letter  which  I  wrote  to  Harriet  St. 
Lcger  a  day  or  two  after  his  death,  and  I  will  here 
transcribe  part  of  it,  rather  than  narrate  the  event 
afresh. 

Nov.  14th,  1857. 

Dearest  Harriet,  —  My  poor  father's  sufferings 
are  over.     He  died  on  Wednesday  evening,  without  the 


/ 


UPROOTED.  19 


>> 


least  pain  or  struggle,  having  sunk  gradually  into  an 
unconscious  state  since  Sunday  morning.  At  all  events 
it  proved  a  most  merciful  close  to  his  long  sufferings, 
for  he  never  seemed  even  aware  of  the  terrible  state 
into  which  the  poor  limbs  fell,  but  became  weaker  and 
weaker,  and  as  the  mortification  advanced,  died  away 
as  if  in  the  gentlest  sleep  he  had  known  for  many  a 
day.  It  is  all  very  merciful,  I  can  feel  nothing  else, 
though  it  is  very  sad  to  have  had  no  parting  words  of 
blessing,  such  as  I  am  sure  he  would  have  given  me. 
All  those  he  loved  best  were  near  him.  He  had  Dotie 
till  the  last  day  of  his  consciousness,  and  the  little 
thing  continually  asked  afterwards  to  go  to  his  study, 
and  enquired,  "  Grandpa  'seep  ?  "  When  he  had  ceased 
to  speak  at  all  comprehensibly,  the  morning  before  he 
died  he  pointed  to  her  picture,  and  half  smiled  when  I 
brought  it  to  him.  Poor  old  father  !  He  is  free  now 
from  all  his  miseries  —  gone  home  to  God  after  his 
long,  long  life  of  good  and  honor  !  Fifty  years  he  has 
lived  as  master  here.  Who  but  God  knows  all  the  kind 
and  generous  actions  he  has  done  in  that  half  century ! 
To  the  very  last  he  completed  everything,  paying  his 
laborers  and  settling  his  books  on  Saturday ;  and  we 
find  all  his  arrangements  made  in  the  most  perfect  and 
thoughtful  way  for  everybody.  There  was  a  letter  left 
for  me.  It  only  contained  a  £100  note  and  the  words, 
"  The  last  token  of  the  love  and  affection  of  a  father  to 
his  daughter."  ...  He  is  now  looking  so  noble  and 
happy,  I  might  say,  so  handsome ;  his  features  seem  so 
glorified  by  death,  that  it  does  one  good  to  go  and  sit 
beside  him.  I  never  saw  Death  look  so  little  terrible. 
Would  that  the  poor  form  could  lie  there,  ever !  The 
grief  will  be  far  worse  after  to-day,  when  we  shall  see 
it  for  the  last  time.  Jessie  has  made  an  outline  of  the 
face  as  it  is  now,  very  like.  How  wonderful  and  blessed 
is  this  glorifying  power  of  death;  taking  away  the 
lines   of    age   and   weak    distension    of    muscles,    and 


194  FRslNCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

leaving  only,  as  it  would  seem,  the  true  face  of  the  man 
as  he  was  beneath  all  surface  weaknesses  ;  the  "  garment 
by  the  soul  laid  by,"  smoothed  out  and  folded !  My 
cousins  and  Jessie  and  I  all  feel  very  much  how  bless- 
edly this  face  speaks  to  us  ;  how  it  is  not  him,  but  a 
token  of  what  he  is  now.  I  grieve  that  I  was  not  more 
to  him,  that  I  did  not  better  win  his  love  and  do  more 
to  deserve  it ;  but  even  this  sorrow  has  its  comfort. 
Perhaps  he  knows  now  that  with  all  my  heart  I  did  feel 
the  deepest  tenderness  for  his  sufferings  and  respect  for 
his  great  virtues.  At  all  events  the  wall  of  creed  has 
fallen  down  from  between  our  souls  forever,  and  I 
believe  that  was  the  one  great  obstacle  which  I  could 
never  overthrow  entirely.  Forbearing  as  he  proved 
himself,  it  was  never  forgotten.  Now  all  that  divided 
us  is  over.  ...  It  seems  all  very  dream-like  just  now, 
long  as  we  have  thought  of  it,  and  I  know  the  waking 
will  be  a  terrible  pang  when  all  is  over  and  I  have  left 
evert/tit  ing  round  which  my  heart  roots  have  twined  in 
five  and  thirty  years.  But  I  don't  fear  —  how  can  I, 
when  my  utmost  hopes  could  not  have  pointed  to  an  end 
so  happy  as  God  has  given  to  my  poor  old  father  ? 
Everything  is  merciful  about  it  —  even  to  the  time  when 
we  were  all  together  here,  and  when  I  am  neither  young 
enough  to  need  protection,  or  old  enough  to  feel  dimin- 
ished energies.     .     .     . 


1  &■■ 


I  carried  out  my  long  formed  resolution,  of  course, 
and  started  on  my  pilgrimage  just  three  weeks  after 
my  father's  death.  Leaving  Newbridge  was  the  worst 
wrench  of  my  life.  The  home  of  my  childhood  and 
youth,  of  which  I  had  been  mistress  for  nineteen  years, 
for  every  corner  of  which  I  had  cared,  and  wherein 
there  was  not  a  room  without  its  tender  associations,  — 
it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  drag  myself  away.  To 
strip  my  pretty  bedroom  of  its  pictures,  and  books,  and 
ornaments,  many  of  them  my  mother's  gifts,  and  my 


UPROOTED.  195 

mother's  work ;  to  send  off  my  harp  to  be  sold ;  and 
make  over  to  my  brother  my  private  possessions  of 
ponies  and  carriage,  —  (luckily  my  dear  dog  was  dead), 
—  and  take  leave  of  all  the  dear  old  servants  and  vil- 
lage people,  formed  a  whole  series  of  pangs.  I  remem- 
ber feeling  a  distinct  regret  and  smiling  at  myself  for 
doing  so,  when  I  locked  for  the  last  time  the  big,  old- 
fashioned  tea-chest  out  of  which  I  had  made  the  family 
breakfast  for  twenty  years.  Then  came  the  last  morn- 
ing, and  as  I  drove  out  of  the  gates  of  Newbridge  I  felt 
I  was  leaving  behind  me  all  and  everything  in  the 
world  which  I  had  loved  and  cherished. 

I  was  going  also,  it  must  be  said,  not  only  from  a 
family  circle  to  entire  solitude,  but  also  from  compara- 
tive wealth  to  poverty.  Considering  the  interests  of 
my  eldest  brother  as  paramount,  and  the  seriousness  of 
his  charge  of  keeping  up  the  house  and  estate,  my 
father  left  me  but  a  very  small  patrimony  ;  amounting, 
at  the  rate  of  interest  then  obtainable,  to  a  trifle  over 
£200  a  year.  For  a  woman  who  had  always  had  every 
possible  service  rendered  to  her  by  a  regiment  of  well 
trained  servants,  and  had  had  £130  a  year  pocket- 
money  since  she  left  school,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
this  was  a  narrow  provision.  My  father  intended  me 
to  continue  to  live  at  Newbridge  with  my  brother  and 
sister-in-law ;  but  such  a  plan  was  entirely  contrary  to 
my  view  of  what  my  life  should  thenceforth  become, 
and  I  accepted  my  poverty  cheerfully  enough,  with  the 
help  of  a  little  ready  money  wherewith  to  start  on  my 
travels.  I  cut  off  half  my  hair,  being  totally  unable  to 
grapple  with  the  whole  without  a  maid,  and  faced  the 
future  with  the  advantage  of  the  great  calm  which  fol- 
lows any  immediate  concern  with  Death.  While  that 
Shadow  hangs  over  our  heads  we  perceive  but  dimly 
the  thorns  and  pebbles  on  our  road. 

A  week  after  leaving  Ireland,  I  spent  one  night  with 
Harriet  St.  Leger  in  lodgings  which  she  and  her  friend, 


196  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Miss  Dorothy  Wilson,  occupied   on  the  Marina  at  St. 
Leonard's. 

When  I  had  gone  to  my  room  rather  late  that  even- 
ing, I  opened  my  window  and  looked  out  for  the  last 
time  before  my  exile,  on  an  English  scene.  There  was 
the  line  of  friendly  lamps  close  by,  but  beyond  it  the 
sea,  dark  as  pitch  on  that  December  night,  was  only  re- 
vealed by  the  sound  of  the  slow  waves  breaking  sullenly 
on  the  beach  beneath.  It  was  like  a  black  wall  before 
me ;  the  sea  and  sky  undistinguishable.  I  thought : 
"  To-morrow  I  shall  go  out  into  that  darkness !  How 
like  to  death  is  this  ! " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LONG    JOURNEY. 

The  journey  which  I  undertook  when  my  home  duties 
ended  at  the  death  of  my  father  would  be  considered  a 
very  moderate  excursion  in  these  latter  days,  but  in 
1857  it  was  still  accounted  somewhat  of  an  enterprise 
for  a  "  lone  woman."  When  I  told  my  friends  that  I 
was  going  to  Egypt  and  Jerusalem,  they  said:  "Ah, 
you  will  get  as  far  as  Eome  and  Naples,  and  that  will 
be  very  interesting  ;  but  you  will  find  too  many  difficul- 
ties in  the  way  of  going  any  further."  "  When  I  say  " 
(I  replied)  "  that  I  am  going  to  Egypt  and  Jerusalem, 
I  mean  that  to  Egypt  and  Jerusalem  I  shall  go."  And 
so,  as  it  proved,  a  wilful  woman  had  her  way ;  and  I 
came  back  after  a  year  with  the  ever-delightful  privilege 
of  observing  :  "I  told  you  so." 

I  shall  not  dream  of  dragging  the  reader  again  over 
the  well-worn  ground  at  the  slow  pace  of  a  writer  of 
"Impressions  de  Voyage."  The  best  of  my  reminiscen- 
ces were  given  to  the  world  in  "  Eraser's  Magazine,"  and 
reprinted  in  my  "  Cities  of  the  Past,"  before  there  was  yet 
a  prospect  of  a  railway  to  Jerusalem  except  in  Martin's 
picture  of  the  "  End  of  the  World  "  ;  or  of  a  "  Service 
d?  omnibus  "  over  the  wild  solitudes  of  Lebanon,  where  I 
struggled  'mid  snows  and  torrents  which  nearly  whelmed 
me  and  my  horse  in  destruction.  I  rejoice  to  think 
that  I  saw  those  holy  and  wonderful  lands  of  Palestine 
and  Egypt  while  Cook's  tourists  were  yet  unborn,  and 
Cairo  had  only  one  small  English  hotel  and  one  solitary 
wheel  carriage ;  and  the  solemn  gaze  of  the  Sphinx 
encountered  no  Golf-games  on  the  desert  sands. 


198  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

My  proceedings  were  very  much  like  those  of  certain 
birds  of  the  farmyard  (associated  particularly  with 
Michaelmas)  who  very  rarely  are  seen  to  rise  on  the 
wing,  but  when  they  are  once  incited  to  do  so  are  wont 
to  take  a  very  wide  circle  in  their  flight  before  they 
come  back  to  the  barn  door  ! 

Paris,  Marseilles,  Rome,  Naples,  Messina,  Malta, 
Alexandria,  Cairo,  Jaffa,  Jerusalem,  Bethlehem,  Hebron, 
Dead  Sea,  Jordan,  Beyrout,  Lebanon,  Baalbec,  Cyprus, 
Rhodes,  Smyrna,  Athens,  Constantinople,  Cape  Matapan, 
Corfu,  Trieste,  Adelsberg,  Venice,  Florence,  Milan, 
Lucerne,  Geneva,  Wiesbaden,  Antwerp,  London,  —  such 
was  my  "  swoop,"  accomplished  in  eleven  months  and 
at  a  cost  of  only  £400.  To  say  that  I  brought  home  a 
crop  of  new  ideas  would  be  a  small  way  of  indicating 
the  whole  harvest  of  them  wherewith  I  returned  laden. 
There  were  (I  thiuk  I  may  summarize),  as  the  results 
of  such  a  journey,  the  following  great  additions  to  my 
mental  stock. 

First.  A  totally  fresh  conception  of  the  glory  and 
beauty  of  Nature.  When  crossing  the  Channel  I  fell 
into  talk  with  a  charming  old  lady  and  told  her  how  I 
was  looking  forward  to  seeing  the  great  pictures  and 
buildings  of  Italy.  "  Ah,"  she  said,  "  but  there  is 
Italian  Nature  to  be  seen  also.  Do  not  miss  it,  looking 
only  at  works  of  art.  i"  go  to  Italy  to  see  it  much  more 
than  the  galleries  and  churches."  I  was  very  much 
astonished  at  this  remark,  but  I  came  home  after  some 
months  spent  in  a  villa  on  Bellosguardo  entirely  con- 
verted to  her  view.  Travellers  there  are  who  weary 
their  feet  and  strain  their  eyes  till  they  can  no  longer 
see  or  receive  impressions  from  the  miles  of  painted 
canvas,  the  regiments  of  statues,  and  the  streets  of  pal- 
aces and  churches  wherewith  Italy  abounds  ;  yet  have 
never  spent  a  day  riding  over  the  desolate  Campagna 
with  the  far  off  Apennines  closing  the  horizon,  or  en- 
joyed nights  of  paradise,  sitting  amid  the  cypresses  and 


LONG  JOURNEY.  199 

the  garlanded  vines,  with  the  stars  overhead,  the  night- 
ingales singing,  and  the  fireflies  darting  around  among 
the  Rose  de  Maggio.  Such  travellers  may  come  back  to 
England  proud  of  having  verified  every  line  of  Murray 
on  the  spot,  yet  they  have  failed  to  "see  Italy"  alto- 
gether. Never  shall  I  forget  the  revelation  of  loveli- 
ness of  the  iEgean  and  Ionian  seas,  of  the  lower  slopes 
of  Lebanon,  and  of  the  Acropolis  of  Athens,  seen,  as  I 
saw  it  first,  at  sunrise.  But  when  my  heaviest  journeys 
were  done  and  I  paused  and  rested  in  Villa  Niccolini, 
with  Florence  below  and  the  Val  d'Arno  before  me,  I 
felt  as  if  the  beauty  of  the  world,  as  I  then  and  there 
saw  it,  were  joy  enough  for  a  lifetime.  The  old  lines 
(I  know  not  whose  they  are)  kept  ringing  in  my  ears  :  — 

"  And  they  shall  summer  high  in  bliss 
Upon  the  hills  of  God." 

I  shall  quote  here  some  verses  which  I  wrote  at  that 
time,  as  they  described  the  scene  in  which  I  lived  and 
revelled. 

THE  FESTA  OF  THE  WORLD. 

A  Princess  came  to  a  southern  strand, 
Over  a  summer  sea  ; 

And  the  sky  smiled  down  on  the  laughing  land, 
For  that  land  was  Italy. 

The  fruit  trees  bent  their  laden  boughs 
O'er  the  fields  with  harvest  gold, 
And  the  rich  vines  wreathed  from  tree  to  tree, 
Like  garlands  in  temples  old. 

And  over  all  fell  the  glad  sunlight, 
So  warm,  so  bright,  so  clear  ! 
The  earth  shone  out  like  an  emerald  set 
In  the  diamond  atmosphere. 

Then  down  to  greet  that  lady  sweet 

Came  the  Duke  from  his  palace  hall  : 
"  I  thank  thee,  gentle  Sire,"  she  cried, 
"  For  thy  princely  festival. 

"For  honored  guests  have  towns  'ere  now 
Been  decked  right  royally  ; 


200  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

But  thy  whole  land  is  garlanded, 
One  bower  of  bloom  for  me  !  " 

Then  smiled  the  Duke  at  the  lady's  thought, 
And  the  thanks  he  had  lightly  won  ; 
For  Nature's  eternal  Festa-day 
She  deemed  for  her  alone  ! 

A  Poet  stood  by  the  Princess's  side  ; 
"  0  lady,  raise  thine  eye  ! 
The  Giver  of  this  great  Festival, 
He  dwelleth  in  yon  blue  sky. 

"  Thy  kinsman  Prince  hath  welcomed  thee, 
But  God  hath  His  world  arrayed 
Not  more  for  thee  than  yon  beggar  old 
Who  sleeps  'neath  the  ilex  shade. 

"His  sun  doth  shine  on  the  peasant's  fields, 
His  rain  on  his  vineyard  pour, 
His  flowers  bloom  by  the  worn  wayside, 
And  creep  o'er  the  cottage  door. 

"  For  each,  for  all  is  a  welcome  given 
And  spread  the  world's  great  feast  ; 
And  the  King  of  Kings  is  the  loving  Host 
And  each  child  of  man  a  guest."  * 

The  beauty  of  Switzerland  has  at  no  time  touched  me 
as  that  of  Italy  has  always  done.  There  is  something 
in  the  sharp,  hard  atmosphere  of  Switzerland  (and  I 
may  add  in  the  sharp,  hard  characters  of  the  Swiss) 
which  disenchants  me  in  the  grandest  scenes. 

The  second  thing  one  learns  in  a  journey  like  mine  is, 
of  course,  the  wondrous  achievements  of  human  Art,  — 
temples  and  churches,  fountains  and  obelisks,  pyramids 
and  statues,  and  pictures  without  end.  But  on  this 
head  I  need  say  nothing.  Enough  has  been  said  and  to 
spare  by  those  far  more  competent  than  I  to  write  of  it. 

Lastly,  there  is  a  thing  which  I,  at  all  events,  learned 

1  The  mistake  recorded  in  these  little  verses  was  made  by  a  daughter  of 
Louis  Philippe  when  visiting  her  uncle,  the  Grand  Duke  of  Lucca.  The 
incident  was  narrated  to  me  by  the  sculpturess,  Mdlle.  Felicie  Fauveau, 
attendant  on  the  Duchesse  de  Berri. 


LONG  JOURNEY.  201 

by  knocking  about  the  world.  It  is  the  enormous 
amount  of  pure  human  good-nature  which  is  to  be  found 
almost  everywhere.  I  should  weary  the  reader  to  tell 
all  the  little  kindnesses  done  to  me  by  fellow-passengers 
in  the  railways  and  steamers,  and  by  the  Captains  of 
the  vessels  in  which  I  sailed ;  and  of  the  trouble  which 
strangers  took  to  help  me  out  of  my  small  difficulties. 
Of  course  men  do  not  meet  —  because  they  do  not  want 
—  such  services ;  and  women,  who  travel  with  men,  or 
even  two  or  three  together,  seldom  invite  them.  But 
for  viewing  human  nature  en  beau,  commend  me  to  a 
long  journey  by  a  woman  of  middle  age,  of  no  beauty, 
and  travelling  as  cheaply  as  possible,  alone. 

I  believe  the  Psychical  Society  has  started  a  theory 
that  when  places  where  crimes  have  been  committed 
are  ever  after  "haunted,"  the  apparitions  are  not  ex- 
actly good,  old-fashioned  real  ghosts,  if  I  may  use  such 
an  expression,  but  some  sort  of  atmospheric  photographs 
(the  term  is  my  own)  left  by  the  parties  concerned,  or 
sent  telepathically  from  their  present  habitat  (wherever 
that  may  be)  to  the  scene  of  their  earthly  suffering  or 
wickedness.  The  hypothesis,  of  course,  relieves  us 
from  the  very  unpleasant  surmise  that  the  actual  soul  of 
the  victims  of  assassination  and  robbery  may  have  no- 
thing better  to  do  in  a  future  life  than  to  stand  guard 
perpetually  at  the  dark  and  dank  corners,  cellars,  and 
bottoms  of  stone  staircases,  where  they  were  cruelly 
done  to  death  fifty  or  a  hundred  years  before  ;  or  to 
loaf  like  detectives  about  the  spots  where  their  jewelry 
and  cash-boxes  (so  useful  and  important  to  a  disembod- 
ied spirit !)  lie  concealed.  But  the  atmospheric  photo- 
graph, or  magic-lantern  theory,  whatever  truth  it  may 
hold,  exactly  answers  to  a  sense  which  I  should  think 
all  my  readers  must  have  experienced,  as  I  have  done, 
in  certain  houses  and  cities  ;  a  sense  as  if  the  crimes 
which  had  been  committed  therein  have  left  an  inde- 
scribable miasma,  a  lurid  impalpable  shadow,  like  that 


202  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

of  the  ashes  of  the  Polynesian  volcano  which  darkened 
the  sun  for  a  year ;  or  shall  we  say,  like  the  unrecog- 
nized effluvium  which  probably  caused  Mrs.  Sleeman,  in 
her  tent,  to  dream  she  was  surrounded  by  naked  mur- 
dered men,  while  fourteen  corpses  were  actually  lying 
beneath  her  bed  and  were  next  day  disinterred  ? 1 
Walking  once  through  Holyrood  with  Dr.  John  Brown 
(who  had  not  visited  the  place  for  many  years),  I  was 
quite  overcome  by  this  sense  of  ancient  crime,  perpetu- 
ated as  it  seemed,  almost  like  a  physical  phenomenon 
in  those  gloomy  chambers  ;  and  on  describing  my  sen- 
sations, Dr.  Brown  avowed  that  he  experienced  a  very 
similar  impression.  It  would  almost  seem  as  if  moral 
facts  of  a  certain  intensity  begin  to  throw  a  cloudy 
shadow  of  Evil,  as  Romish  saints  were  said  to  exhale 
an  odor  of  sanctity. 

If  there  be  a  city  in  the  world  where  this  sense  is 
most  vivid,  I  think  it  is  Rome.  I  have  felt  it  also  in 
Paris,  but  Rome  is  worst.  The  air  (not  of  the  Cam- 
pagna  with  all  its  fevers,  but  of  the  city  itself)  seems 
foul  with  the  blood  and  corruption  of  a  thousand  years. 
On  the  finest  spring  day,  in  the  grand  open  spaces  of 
the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  San  Pietro,  and  the  Forum,  it  is 
the  same  as  in  the  darkest  and  narrowest  streets.  No 
person  sensitive  to  this  impression  can  be  genuinely 
light-hearted  and  gay  in  Rome,  as  we  often  are  even  in 
our  own  gloomy  London.  Perhaps  this  is  sheer  fanci- 
fulness  on  my  part,  but  I  have  been  many  times  in 
Rome,  twice  for  an  entire  winter,  and  the  same  impres- 
sion never  failed  to  overcome  me.  On  my  last  visit  I 
nearly  died  there,  and  it  was  not  to  be  described  how 
earnestly  I  longed  to  emerge,  as  if  out  of  one  of  Dante's 
Girl,  "  anywhere,  anywhere  out  of  "  this  Rome  ! 

On  the  occasion  of  my  first  journey  at  Christmas, 
1857,  I  stopped  only  three  weeks  in  the  Eternal  City 
and  then  went  on  by  sea  to  Naples.     I  was  ill  from  the 

1  See  General  Sleeman's  India. 


LONG  JOURNEY.  203 

fatigues  and  anxieties  of  the  previous  weeks,  and  after 
a  few  half-dazed  visits  to  the  Colosseum,  the  Vatican, 
and  Shelley's  grave,  I  found  myself  unable  to  leave  my 
solitary  fourth-floor  room  in  the  Europa.  A  card  was 
brought  to  me  one  day  while  thus  imprisoned,  bearing 
names  (unknown  to  me)  of  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Ap- 
thorp,"  and  with  the  singular  message :  "  Was  I  the 
Miss  Cobbe  who  had  corresponded  with  Theodore  Par- 
ker in  America  ? "  My  first  impression  was  one  of 
alarm.  "  What !  more  trouble  about  my  heresies  still  ?  " 
It  was,  however,  quite  a  different  matter.  My  visitors 
were  a  gentleman  (a  real  American  gentleman)  and  his 
wife,  with  two  ladies,  who  were  all  among  Parker's  inti- 
mate friends  in  America,  and  to  whom  he  had  showed 
my  letters.  They  came  to  hold  out  to  me  the  right  hands 
of  fellowship  ;  and  friends  indeed  we  became,  in  such 
thorough  sort,  that  after  seven-and-thirty  years  I  am 
corresponding  with  dear  Mrs.  Apthorp  still.  She  and 
her  sister  nursed  me  through  my  illness ;  and  thus  my 
solitude  in  Rome  came  to  an  end. 

Naples  struck  me  on  my  first  visit,  as  it  has  done 
again  and  again,  as  presenting  the  proof  that  the  Beau- 
tiful is  not  by  itself  a  root  out  of  which  the  Good 
spontaneously  grows.  If  we  want  to  cultivate  Purity, 
Honesty,  Veracity,  Unselfishness,  or  any  other  virtue, 
it  is  vain  to  think  we  shall  achieve  our  end  by  giving 
the  masses  pretty  pleasure-grounds  and  "Palaces  of 
Delight,"  or  even  aesthetic  cottages  with  the  best  repro- 
ductions of  Botticelli  adorning  the  walls.  Do  what  we 
may  we  can  never  hope  to  surround  our  working  men 
with  such  beauty  as  that  of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  nor  to 
show  them  Art  to  equal  the  treasures  of  the  Museo  Bor- 
bonico.  And  what  has  come  of  all  this  familiar  revel- 
ling in  Beauty  for  centuries  and  milleniums  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Naples  ?  Only  that  they  resemble  more  closely 
in  ignorance,  in  squalor,  and  in  degradation  the  most 
wretched  Irish  who  dwell  in  mud  cabins  amid  the  bogs, 
than  any  other  people  in  Europe. 


204  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

I  had  intended  remaining  for  some  time  to  recuperate 
at  Naples,  and  took  a  cheery  little  room  in  a  certain 
Pension  Schiassi  (now  abolished)  on  the  Chiajia.  In 
this  pension  I  met  a  number  of  kindly  and  interesting 
people  of  various  nationalities ;  the  most  pleasant  and 
cultivated  of  all  being  Finns  from  Helsingfors.  It  was 
a  great  experience  to  me  to  enter  into  some  sort  of  soci- 
ety again,  far  removed  from  all  my  antecedents ;  no 
longer  the  mistress  of  a  large  house  and  dispenser  of  its 
hospitality,  but  a  wandering  tourist,  known  to  nobody 
and  dressed  as  plainly  as  might  be.  I  find  I  wrote  to 
my  old  friend,  Miss  St.  Leger,  on  the  subject  under 
date  January  21st,  1858,  as  follows  :  "  I  am  really  cheer- 
ful now.  Those  days  in  the  country  (at  Cumee  and 
Capo  cli  Monte)  cheered  me  very  much,  and  I  am  begin- 
ning altogether  to  look  at  the  future  differently.  There 
is  one  thing  I  feel  really  happy  about.  I  see  now  my 
actual  position  towards  people,  divested  of  the  social 
advantages  I  have  hitherto  held ;  and  I  find  it  a  very 
pleasant  one.  I  don't  think  I  deceive  myself  in  imagin- 
ing that  people  easily  like  me,  and  get  interested  in  my 
ideas,  while  I  find  abundance  to  like  and  esteem  in  a 
large  proportion  of  those  I  meet."  (Optimism,  once 
more  !  the  reader  will  say  !) 

It  was  not,  however,  "  all  beer  and  skittles  "  for  me 
at  the  Schiassi  pension.  I  had,  as  I  have  mentioned, 
taken  a  pretty  little  room  looking  out  on  the  Villa  Reale 
and  the  Bay  and  Vesuvius,  and  had  put  up  the  photo- 
graphs and  miniatures  I  carried  with  me  and  my  little 
knicknacks  on  the  writing  table,  and  fondly  flattered 
myself  I  should  sit  and  write  there  peacefully.  But  I 
reckoned  without  my  neighbors  !  It  was  Sunday  when 
I  arrived  and  settled  myself  so  complacently.  On  Mon- 
day morning,  soon  after  daybreak,  I  was  rudely  awak- 
ened by  a  dreadful  four-handed  strumming  on  a  piano, 
apparently  in  my  very  room  !  On  rousing  myself,  I  per- 
ceived that  a  locked  door  close  to  my  bed  obviously 


LONG  JOURNEY.  205 

opened  into  an  adjoining  chamber,  and  being  (after  the 
manner  of  Italian  doors)  at  least  two  inches  short  of 
the  uncarpeted  floor,  I  was  to  all  acoustic  intents  and 
purposes  actually  in  the  room  with  this  atrocious  jang- 
ling piano  and  the  two  thumping  performers !  The 
practising  went  on  for  two  hours,  and  when  it  stopped 
a  masculine  voice  arose  to  read  the  Bible  aloud  in  fam- 
ily devotions.  Then,  after  a  brief  interval  for  break- 
fast, burst  out  again  the  intolerable  strumming.  I  fled, 
and  remained  out  of  doors  for  hours,  but  when  I  came 
back  they  were  at  it  again !  I  appealed  to  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  in  vain.  Sir  Andrew and  his  daugh- 
ters (I  will  call  them  the  Misses  Shocking-strum,  their 
real  name  concerns  nobody  now)  had  been  there  before 
me  and  would  no  doubt  stop  long  after  me,  and  could 
not  be  prevented  from  playing  from  seven  a.  m.  to  ten 
p.  m.  every  day  of  the  week.  I  took  a  large  card  and 
wrote  on  it  this  pathetic  appeal :  — 

"Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  maid, 
Whose  hapless  lot  has  made  her  lodge  next  door, 
Who  fain  would  wish  those  morning  airs  delayed; 
O  practise  less  !     And  she  will  bless  3-011  more!  " 

I  thrust  this  under  the  ill-fitting  door  well  into  the 
music-room,  and  waited  anxiously  for  some  measure  of 
mercy  to  be  meted  to  me  in  consequence.  But  no  !  the 
hateful  thumping  and  crashing  went  on  as  before. 
Then  I  gathered  up  my  loins  and  went  down  to  the 
packet  office  and  took  a  berth  in  the  next  steamer  for 
Alexandria. 

After  landing  at  Messina  (lovely  region !)  and  at 
Malta,  I  embarked  in  a  French  screw-steamer,  which 
began  to  roll  before  we  were  well  under  weigh,  and 
which,  when  a  real  Levanter  came  on  three  days  later, 
played  pitch  and  toss  with  us  passengers,  insomuch  that 
we  often  needed  to  lie  on  mattresses  on  the  floor  and 
hold  something  to  prevent  our  heads  from  being  knocked 
to  pieces.     One  day,  being  fortunately  a  very  good  sailor, 


206  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

I  scrambled  up  on  deck  and  beheld  a  glorious  scene. 
Euroclydon  was  playing  with,  towering  waves  of  lapis- 
lazulge  all  flecked  and  veined  like  a  horse's  neck  with 
white  foam,  and  the  African  sun  was  shining  down 
cloudless  over  the  turmoil. 

There  were  some  French  nuns  on  board  going  to  a 
convent  in  Cairo,  where  they  were  to  be  charitably 
engaged  taking  care  of  girls.  The  monastic  mind  is 
always  an  interesting  study.  It  brings  us  back  to  the 
days  of  Bede,  and  times  when  miracles  (if  it  be  not  a 
bull  to  say  so)  were  the  rule  and  the  ordinary  course  of 
nature  the  exception.  People  are  then  constantly  seen 
where  they  are  not,  and  not  seen  where  they  are  ;  and 
the  dead  are  as  "  prominent  citizens  "  of  this  world  (as 
an  American  would  say)  as  the  living.  Meanwhile  the 
actual  geography  and  history  of  the  modern  world  and 
all  that  is  going  on  in  politics,  society,  art,  and  literature, 
is  as  dark  to  the  good  Sister  or  Brother  as  if  she  or  he 
had  really  (as  in  Hans  Andersen's  story)  "  walked  back 
into  the  eleventh  century."  My  nice  French  nuns  were 
very  kind  and  instructive  to  me.  They  told  me  of  the 
Virgin's  Tree  which  we  should  see  at  Heliopolis  (though 
they  knew  nothing  of  the  obelisk  there),  and  they  in- 
formed me  that  if  any  one  looked  out  on  Trinity  Sunday 
exactly  at  sunrise,  he  would  see  "  toutes  les  trois  per- 
sonnes  de  la  sainte  Trinite." 

I  could  not  help  asking ;  "  Madame  les  aura  vu  ?  " 

"  Pas  precisement,  Madame.  Madame  sait  qu'a  cette 
saison  le  soleil  se  leve  bien  tot." 

"  Mais,  Madame,  pour  voir  toutes  les  trois  personnes  ? 

It  was  no  use.  The  good  soul  persisted  in  believing 
what  she  liked  to  believe  and  took  care  never  to  get  up 
and  look  out  on  Trinity  Sunday  morning,  —  just  as  ten 
thousand  Englishmen  and  women,  who  think  themselves 
much  wiser  than  the  poor  nun,  carefully  avoid  looking 
straight  at  facts  concerning  which  they  do  not  wish  to 
be  set  right.     St.  Thomas'  kind  of  faith  which  dares  to 


LONG  JOURNEY.  207 

look  and  see,  and,  if  it  may  be  to  touch,  is  a  much  more 
real  faith  after  all  than  that  which  will  not  venture  to 
open  its  eyes. 

Landing  at  Alexandria  (after  being  blown  off  the 
Egyptian  coast  nearly  as  far  as  Crete)  was  an  epoch  in 
my  life.  No  book,  no  gallery  of  pictures,  can  ever  be 
more  interesting  or  instructive  than  the  first  drive 
through  an  Eastern  city ;  even  such  a  hybrid  one  as 
Alexandria.  But  all  the  world  knows  this  now,  and  I 
need  not  dwell  on  so  familiar  a  topic.  The  only  matter 
I  care  to  record  here  is  a  visit  I  paid  to  a  subterranean 
church  which  had  just  been  opened,  and  of  which  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  hear  at  the  moment.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  learn  anything  further  concerning  it  than 
appears  in  the  following  extract  from  one  of  my  note- 
books, and  I  fear  the  church  must  long  ago  have  been 
destroyed,  and  the  frescoes,  of  course,  effaced  : 

"In  certain  excavations  now  making  in  one  of  the 
hills  of  the  Old  City  —  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of 
the  Mahmoudie  Canal  —  the  workmen  have  come  upon 
a  small  subterranean  church ;  for  whose  very  high 
antiquity  many  arguments  may  be  adduced.  The  fres- 
coes with  which  it  is  adorned  are  still  in  tolerable 
preservation,  and  appear  to  belong  to  the  same  period  of 
art  as  those  rescued  from  Pompeii.  Though  altogether 
inferior  to  the  better  specimens  in  the  Museo  Borbonico, 
there  is  yet  the  same  simplicity  of  attitude  and  drapery ; 
the  same  breadth  of  outline  and  effect  produced  by  a 
few  touches.  It  is  impossible  to  confound  them  for 
a  moment  with  the  stiff  and  meretricious  style  of 
Byzantine  painting. 

"  The  form  of  the  church  is  very  peculiar,  and  I  con- 
ceive antique.  If  we  suppose  a  shaft  to  have  been  cut 
into  the  hill,  its  base  may  be  considered  to  form  the 
centre  of  a  cross.  To  the  west,  in  lieu  of  nave,  are  two 
staircases ;  one  ascending,  the  other  descending  to 
various  parts  of  the  hillside.     To  the  east  is  a  small 


208  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

chancel,  with  depressed  elliptical  arch  and  recesses  at 
the  back  and  sides,  of  the  same  form.  The  north  tran- 
sept is  a  mere  apse,  supported  by  rather  elegant  Ionic 
pilasters,  and  having  a  fan-shaped  roof.  Opposite  this, 
and  in  the  place  of  a  south  transept,  is  the  largest  apart- 
ment of  the  whole  grotto;  a  chamber,  presenting  a 
singular  transition  between  a  modern  funeral-vault  and 
an  ancient  columbarium.  The  walls  are  pierced  on  all 
sides  by  deep  holes,  of  the  size  and  shape  of  coffins 
placed  endwise.  There  are  in  all  thirty-two  of  these 
holes  ;  in  which,  however,  I  could  find  no  evidence  that 
they  had  ever  been  applied  to  the  purpose  of  interment. 
In  the  corner,  between  this  chamber  and  the  chancel- 
arch,  there  is  a  deep  stone  cistern  sunk  in  the  ground ; 
I  presume  a  font.  The  frescoes  at  the  end  of  the 
chancel  are  small,  and  much  effaced.  In  the  eastern 
apse  there  is  a  group  representing  the  Miracle  of  the 
Loaves  and  Fishes.  In  the  front  walls  of  the  chancel- 
arch  are  two  life-size  figures  ;  one  representing  an  angel, 
the  other  having  the  name  of  Christ  inscribed  over  it  in 
Greek  letters.  This  last  struck  me  as  peculiarly  inter- 
esting; from  the  circumstance  that  the  face  bears  no 
resemblance  whatever  to  the  one  conventionally  received 
among  us,  in  modern  times.  The  eyes,  in  the  Alexan- 
drian fresco,  are  dark  and  widely  opened  ;  the  eyebrows 
straight  and  strongly  marked  ;  the  hair  nearly  black 
and  gathered  in  short,  thick  masses  over  the  ears.  I 
was  the  more  attracted  by  these  peculiarities,  as  my 
attention  had  shortly  before  been  arrested  very  forcibly 
by  the  splendid  bronze  bust  from  Herculaneum,  in  the 
Museo  Borbonieo.  This  grand  and  beautiful  head, 
which  Murray  calls  '  Speusippus,'  and  the  custodi 
'  Plato  in  the  character  of  the  Indian  Bacchus,'  resem- 
bles so  perfectly  the  common  representations  of  Christ, 
that  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  define  any  difference, 
unless  it  be  that  it  has,  perhaps,  more  intellectual  power 
than  our  paintings  and  sculptures  usually  convey,  and  a 


LONG  JOURNEY.  209 

more  massive  neck.  If  this  Alexandrian  fresco  really 
represents  the  tradition  of  the  third  or  fourth  century, 
it  becomes  a  question  of  some  curiosity :  whence  do  we 
derive  our  modern  idea  of  Christ's  face  ?" 

Cairo  was  a  great  delight  to  me.  I  could  not  afford 
to  stop  at  Shepheard's  Hotel,  but  took  up  my  abode 
with  some  kind  Americans  I  had  met  in  the  steamer, 
in  a  sort  of  pension  kept  by  an  Italian  named  Ronch, 
in  Old  Cairo,  actually  on  the  bank  of  the  Nile ;  so 
literally  so,  that  I  might  have  dropped  a  stone  from 
our  balcony  into  the  river,  just  opposite  the  Isle  of 
Rhoda.  From  this  place  I  made  two  excursions  to  the 
Pyramids,  and  had  a  somewhat  appalling  experience  in 
the  "  King's  Chamber  "  in  the  vault  of  Cheops.  I  had 
gone  rather  recklessly  to  Ghiza  without  either  friend 
or  Dragoman  ;  and  allowed  the  wretched  Scheik  at  the 
door  to  send  five  Arabs  into  the  pyramid  with  me  as 
guides.  They  had  only  two  miserable  dip  candles 
altogether,  and  the  darkness,  dust,  heat,  and  noise  of 
the  Arabs  chanting  "  Vera  goot  lady  !  Backsheesh ! 
Backsheesh !  Vera  goot  lady,"  and  so  on  da  cajw,  all  in 
the  narrow,  steeply-slanting  passages,  together  with 
the  intolerable  sense  of  weight  as  of  a  mountain  of 
stone  over  me,  proved  trying  to  my  nerves.  Then, 
when  we  had  reached  the  central  vault  and  I  had 
glanced  at  the  empty  sarcophagus,  which  is  all  it  con- 
tains, the  five  men  suddenly  stopped  their  chanting, 
placed  themselves  with  their  backs  to  the  wall  in  rows, 
with  crossed  arms  in  the  attitude  of  the  Osiride 
pilasters ;  and  one  of  them  in  a  business-like  tone, 
demanded :  "  Backsheesh "  !  I  instantly  perceived 
into  what  a  trap  I  had  fallen,  and  what  a  fool  I  had 
been  to  come  there  alone.  The  idea  that  they  might 
march  out  and  leave  me  alone  in  that  awful  place,  in 
the  darkness,  very  nearly  made  me  quail.  But  I  knew 
it  was  no  time  to  betray  alarm,  so  I  replied  that  I 
"  intended  to  pay  them  outside,  but  if  they  wished  it  I 


210  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

would  do  so  at  once."  I  took  out  my  purse  and  gave 
them  three  shillings  to  be  divided  between  the  five. 
They  took  the  money  and  then  returned  to  their  pos- 
ture against  the  wall. 

"  We  want  Backsheesh  ! " 

I  took  my  courage  a  deux  mains,  and  said,  "  If  you 
give  me  any  more  trouble,  the  English  Consul  shall 
hear  of  it,  and  you  will  get  the  stick." 

"  We  want  Backsheesh  ! " 

"  I  '11  have  no  more  of  this,"  I  cried  in  a  very  sharp 
voice,  and  turning  to  the  ringleader,  who  held  a  candle, 
I  said,  "  Here,  you  fellow !  Take  that  candle  on  in 
front  and  let  me  out.  Go  ! "  He  went !  —  and  I 
blessed  my  stars,  and  all  the  stars,  when  I  emerged  out 
of  that  endless  passage  at  last,  and  stood  safe  under 
the  bright  Egyptian  sun. 

I  am  glad  to  remember  Ghiza  as  it  was  in  those  days 
before  hotels,  or  even  tents,  Avere  visible  near  it ;  when 
the  solemn  Sphinx,  —  so  strangely  and  affectingly 
human  !  stood  gazing  over  the  desert  sands,  and  beside 
it  were  only  the  ancient  temple,  the  rifled  tombs,  and 
the  three  great  Pyramids.  To  me  in  those  days  it 
seemed  the  most  impressive  Field  of  Death  in  the 
world. 

The  old  Arab  Mosques  in  Cairo  also  delighted  me 
greatly  both  for  their  beauty  and  as  studies  of  the 
original  early  English  architecture.  Needless  to  say  I 
was  enchanted  with  the  streets  and  bazaars,  and  all  the 
dim,  strange,  lovely  pictures  they  afforded,  and  the 
Eastern  odors  which  pervaded  them  in  that  bright, 
light  air,  wherein  my  chest  grew  sound  and  strong 
after  having  been  for  years  oppressed  with  bronchial 
troubles.  One  day,  in  my  plenitude  of  enjoyment  of 
health  and  vigor,  I  walked  alone  a  long  way  down  the 
splendid  Shoubra  avenue  of  Acacia  Lebbex  trees  with 
the  moving  crowd  of  Arab  men  and  women  in  all  their 
varied  costumes  and  trains  of  camels  and  asses  laden 


LONG  JOURNEY.  211 

with  green  trefoil,  glittering  in  the  alternate  sun  and 
shade  with  never  a  cart  or  carriage  to  disturb  the  even 
currents  to  and  fro.  At  last  I  came  in  sight  of  the  Nile, 
and  in  the  extreme  excitement  of  the  view,  hastily  con- 
cluded that  the  yellow  bank  which  sloped  down  beyond 
the  grass  must  be  sand,  and  that  I  could  actually 
plunge  my  hands  in  the  River  of  Egypt.  I  ran  down 
the  slope  some  little  distance  from  the  avenue  and  took 
a  few  steps  on  the  supposed  yellow  sand.  It  proved  to 
be  merely  mud,  like  the  banks  of  the  Avon  at  low  tide 
at  Clifton,  though  of  different  color,  and  in  a  moment  I 
felt  myself  sinking  indefinitely.  Already  it  was  nearly 
up  to  my  knees,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  should  have 
been  (quietly  and  unperceived  by  anybody)  entombed 
for  the  investigation  of  Egyptologers  of  future  gener- 
ations. It  was  a  ludicrous  position,  and  even  in  the 
peril  of  it  I  believe  I  laughed  outright.  Any  way  I 
happily  remembered  that  I  had  read  years  before  in  a 
bad  French  novel,  how  people  saved  themselves  in 
quicksands  in  the  Landes  by  throwing  themselves 
down  and  so  dividing  their  weight  over  a  much  larger 
surface  than  the  soles  of  the  feet.  Instantly  I  turned 
back  towards  the  bank  and  cast  myself  along  forward, 
and  then  by  dint  of  enormous  efforts  withdrew  my  feet 
and  struggled  back  to  terra  firma,  much,  I  should  think, 
after  the  mode  of  locomotion  of  an  Ichthyosaurus  or 
other  "dragon  of  the  prime."  Arrived  at  a  place  of 
safety,  I  had  next  to  reflect  how  I  was  to  walk  home 
into  the  town  in  the  pickle  to  which  I  had  reduced 
myself !  Luckily  the  hot  sun  of  Egypt  dried  the  mud 
on  my  homely  clothes  and  enabled  me  to  brush  it  off  as 
dust  in  an  incredibly  quick  time.  Before  it  had  done 
so,  however,  a  frog  of  exceptional  ugliness  mistook  me 
for  part  of  the  bank  and  jumped  on  my  lap.  He 
looked  such  an  ill-made  creature  that  I  constructed  at 
once  the  (non-scientific)  hypothesis  that  he  must  have 
been  descended  from  some  of  the  frogs  which  Pharaoh's 


212  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

magicians  are  said  to  have  made  in  rivalry  to  Moses ; 
forerunners  of  those  modern  pathologists  who  are  just 
clever  enough  to  give  us  all  sorts  of  Plagues,  but  always 
stop  short  of  curing  them. 

I  was  very  anxious,  of  course,  to  ascend  the  Nile  to 
Philae,  or  at  the  very  least  to  Thebes ;  but  I  was  too 
poor  by  far  to  hire  a  dahabieh  for  myself  alone,  and,  in 
those  days,  excursion  steamers  were  non-existent,  or 
very  rare.  I  did  hear  of  a  gentleman  who  wanted  to 
make  up  a  party  and  take  a  boat,  but  he  coolly  pro- 
posed that  I  should  pay  half  of  the  expenses  of  five 
people,  and  I  did  not  view  that  arrangement  in  a  favor- 
able light.  Eventually  I  turned  sorrowfully  and 
disappointed  back  to  Alexandria  with  a  pleasant  party 
of  English  and  American  ladies  and  gentlemen ;  and 
after  a  short  passage  to  Jaffa  we  rode  up  all  together  in 
two  days  to  Jerusalem.  I  had  given  up  riding  many 
years  before  and  taken  to  driving  instead,  but  there 
was  infinite  exhilaration  on  finding  myself  again  on 
horseback,  on  one  of  the  active  little  half  Arab,  Syrian 
steeds.  That  wonderful  ride  through  the  Jaffa  orange 
groves  and  the  Plain  of  Sharon  with  all  its  flowers  to 
Lydda  and  Kamleh,  and  then,  next  day,  to  Jerusalem, 
was  beyond  all  words  interesting.  I  think  no  one  who 
has  been  brought  up  as  we  English  are,  on  the  double 
literature  of  Palestine  and  England,  can  visit  the  Holy 
Land  with  other  than  almost  breathless  curiosity 
mingled  with  a  thousand  tender  associations.  What 
England  is  to  a  cultivated  American  traveller  of  Wash- 
ington Irving's  or  Lowell's  stamp,  that  is  Palestine  to 
us  all.  As  for  me,  my  religious  views  made  it,  I  think, 
rather  more  than  less  congenial  and  interesting  to  me 
than  to  many  others.  I  find  I  wrote  of  it  to  my  friend 
from  Jerusalem  (March  6th,  1858)  : 

"  I  feel  very  happy  to  be  here.  The  land  seems 
worthy  to  be  that  in  which  from  earliest  history  the 
human  soul  has  highest  and  oftenest  soared  up  to  God. 


LONG  JOURNEY.  213 

One  wants  no  miraculous  story  to  make  such  a  country 
a  "  Holy  Land,"  nor  can  such  story  make  it  less  holy 
to  me,  as  it  does,  I  think,  to  some  who  equally  dis- 
believe it.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  Christians  must  be,  and 
in  fact  are,  overwhelmed  and  confounded  to  find  them- 
selves in  the  scene  of  such  events.  To  me  it  is  all 
pleasure.  I  believe  that  if  Christ  can  see  us  now,  like 
other  departed  spirits,  it  is  those  who  revere  him  as  I 
do,  and  not  those  who  give  to  him  his  father's  place, 
whom  he  can  regard  most  complacently.  If  I  did  not 
feel  this,  it  would  pain  me  to  be  here." 

When  I  went  first  into  the  church  of  the  Holy  Sep- 
ulchre, it  happened,  on  account  of  some  function  going 
on  elsewhere,  to  be  unusually  free  from  the  crowds  of 
pilgrims.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  real  parable  in  stone. 
All  the  different  churches,  Greek,  Latin,  Armenian  Mar- 
onite,  opened  into  the  central  Temple,  as  if  to  show  that 
every  creed  has  a  Door  leading  to  the  true  Holy  Place. 

I  loved  also  the  little  narrow  marble  shrine  in  the 
midst,  with  its  small  low  door,  and  the  mere  plain  altar- 
tomb,  with  room  to  kneel  beside  it  and  pray,  if  we  will, 
to  him  who  is  believed  to  have  rested  there  for  the 
mystic  three  days  after  his  crucifixion,  or  if  we  will  (and 
as  I  did),  to  "  his  Father  and  our  Father ; "  in  a  spot 
hallowed  by  the  associations  of  a  hundred  worship- 
ping generations  and  the  memory  of  the  holiest  of  men. 

Another  day  I  was  able  to  walk  alone  nearly  all 
round  outside  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  beginning  at  the 
Jaffa  Gate  and  passing  round  through  what  was  then  a 
desert,  but  is  now,  I  am  told,  a  populous  suburb.  I 
came  successively  to  Siloam  and  to  the  Valley  of  Hin- 
nom,  and  Jehoshaphat ;  to  the  Tombs  of  the  Prophets, 
and  at  last  to  Gethsemane.  At  the  time  of  my  visit, 
this  sacred  spot,  containing  the  ruins  of  an  "  oil  press  " 
(whence  its  supposed  identification),  was  a  small  walled 
garden  kept  by  monks  who  did  their  best  to  spoil  its 
associations.     Above  it  I  sat  for  a  long  time  beside  the 


214  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

path  up  to  St.  Stephen's  Gate,  where  tradition  places 
the  scene  of  that  great  first  Christian  Martyrdom.  The 
ground  is  all  strewed  still,  with  large  stones  and 
boulders,  making  it  easy  to  conjure  up  the  terrific 
picture  of  the  kneeling  saint  and  savage  crowd,  and  of 
Saul  standing  by  watching  the  scene. 

Leaving  Jerusalem  after  a  week  with  the  same  pleas- 
ant English  and  American  companions,  and  with  a 
due  provision  of  guards  and  tents  and  baggage  mules,  I 
rode  to  Bethlehem  and  Hebron,  visiting  on  the  way 
Abraham's  oak  at  Mamre,  which  is  a  magnificent  old 
terebinth,  and  the  vineyard  of  Esh-kol,  then  in  a  very 
poor  condition  of  culture.  We  stopped  the  first  night 
close  to  Solomon's  Pools  and  I  was  profane  enough  to 
bring  my  sponges  at  earliest  dawn  into  Jacob's  Well  at 
the  head  of  the  waters,  and  enjoy  a  delicious  bath. 
Ere  we  turned  in  on  the  previous  evening,  a  clergyman 
of  our  party  read  to  us,  sitting  under  the  walls  of  the  old 
Saracenic  castle,  the  pages  in  Stanley's  Palestine  which 
describe,  with  all  his  vivid  truthfulness  and  historic  sen- 
timent, the  scene  which  lay  before  us :  the  three  great 
ponds,  "  built  by  Solomon,  repaired  by  Pontius  Pilate," 
which  have  supplied  Jerusalem  with  water  for  three 
thousand  years. 

I  am  much  surprised  that  the  problem  offered  by  the 
contents  of  the  vault  beneath  the  Mosque  of  Hebron  has 
not  long  ago  excited  the  intensest  curiosity  among  both 
Jews  and  Christians.  Here,  within  small  and  definite 
limits,  must  lie  evidence  of  incalculable  weight  in  favor 
of  or  against  the  veracity  of  the  Mosaic  record.  If  the 
account  in  Genesis  1.  be  correct,  the  bones  of  Jacob  were 
brought  out  of  Egypt  and  deposited  here  by  Joseph ; 
embalmed  in  the  finest  and  most  durable  manner.  We 
are  expressly  told  (Gen.  1.  2,  3)  that  Joseph  ordered 
the  physicians  to  embalm  his  father,  that  "  forty  days 
were  fulfilled  for  him,  for  so  are  fulfilled  the  days  of 
those  which  are  embalmed ;  "  and  that  Joseph  went  up 


LONG  JOURNEY.  215 

to  Canaan  with  "  all  the  servants  of  Pharaoh  and  the 
elders  of  his  house,  and  all  the  elders  of  the  land  of 
Egypt,"  (a  rather  amazing  exodus  !)  and  "  chariots  and 
horsemen,  a  very  great  company."  They  finally  buried 
Jacob  (v.  13)  "in  the  Cave  of  the  field  of  Macpelah 
which  Abraham  bought."  It  was  unquestionably  then 
a  first-class  Mummy,  covered  with  wrappers  and  inscrip- 
tions, and  enclosed,  of  course,  in  a  splendidly  painted 
Mummy-coffin,  which  was  deposited  in  that  unique 
cave ;  and  the  extraordinary  sanctity  which  has  attached 
to  the  spot  as  far  as  tradition  reaches  back,  affords  pre- 
sumption amounting  almost  to  guarantee  that  there,  if 
anywhere,  below  the  six  cenotaphs  in  the  upper 
chamber,  in  the  vault  under  the  small  hole  in  the  floor 
where  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  Dean  Stanley  were 
privileged  to  look  down  into  the  darkness, — lie  the 
relics  which  would  terminate  more  controversies,  and 
throw  more  light  on  the  origin  of  Judaism  than  can  be 
done  by  all  the  Rabbis  and  Bishops  of  Europe  and 
Asia  together !  Why  do  not  the  Rothschilds  and 
Hirschs  and  Montefiores  and  Goldsmiths  put  together  a 
modest  little  subscription  of  a  million  or  two  and  buy 
up  Hebron,  and  so  settle  once  for  all  whether  the  Jew- 
ish Ulysses  were  a  myth  or  a  man  ;  and  whether  there 
were  really  an  Israel  of  whom  they  are  the  "  Children  ?  " 
I  have  talked  to  Dean  Stanley  on  the  subject,  who  (as 
he  tells  us  in  his  delightful  "  Jewish  Church,"  i.  500) 
shared  all  my  curiosity,  but  when  I  urged  the  query : 
"  Did  he  think  that  the  relics  of  the  Patriarch  would  be 
found,  if  we  could  examine  the  cave  ?  "  he  put  up  his 
hands  in  a  deprecating  attitude,  which  all  who  knew 
and  loved  him  will  remember,  and  said,  "  Ah  !  that  is 
the  question,  indeed  !  " 

Is  it  possible  that  the  millionaire  Jews  of  Germany, 
France,  and  England  are,  after  all,  like  my  poor  friends 
the  Nuns,  who  would  not  get  up  at  sunrise  on  Trinity 
Sunday   to   see  "toutesles  trois  personnes  de  la  sainte 


216  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

Trinite" — and  that  they  prefer  to  believe  that  the 
bones  of  the  three  Patriarchs  are  where  they  ought  to 
be,  but  would  rather  not  put  that  confidence  to  the 
test? 

One  of  the  sights  which  affected  me  most  in  the 
course  of  our  pilgrimage  through  Judgea  was  beheld 
after  a  night  spent  by  the  ladies  of  our  party  in  our 
tent  pitched  among  the  sand  (and  centipedes !)  of  the 
desert  of  the  Mar  Saba.  (Our  gentlemen  friends  were 
privileged  to  sleep  in  the  vast  old  monastery  whence 
they  brought  us  next  morning  the  most  excellent  raki.) 
As  we  rode  out  of  the  little  valley  of  our  encampment 
and  down  by  the  convent  of  Mar  Saba,  we  obtained  a 
complete  view  of  the  whole  hermit  burrow  ;  for  such  it 
may  properly  be  considered.  Mar  Saba  is  the  very 
ideal  of  a  desert.  It  lies  amid  the  wilderness  of  hills, 
not  grand  enough  to  be  sublime  but  only  monotonous 
and  hopelessly  barren.  So  white  are  these  hills  that  at 
first  they  appear  to  be  of  chalk,  but  further  inspection 
shows  them  to  be  of  whitish  rock,  with  hardly  a  trace 
of  vegetation  growing  anywhere  over  it.  On  the  hills 
there  is  sometimes  an  inch  of  soil  over  the  rock ;  in  the 
valleys  there  are  torrents  of  stories  over  the  inch  of 
soil.  Between  our  mid-day  halt  at  Derbinerbeit  (the 
highest  land  in  Judsea)  and  the  evening  rest  at  Mar 
Saba,  our  whole  march  had  been  in  utter  solitude  ;  not  a 
village,  a  tent,  a  caravan,  a  human  being  in  sight.  Not 
a  tree  or  bush.  Of  living  creatures  hardly  a  bird  to 
break  the  dead  silence  of  the  world,  only  a  large  and 
venomous  snake  crawling  beside  our  track.  Thus, 
far  from  human  haunts,  in  the  heart  of  the  wilderness, 
lies  Mar  Saba.  Fit  approach  to  such  a  shrine ! 
Through  the  arid,  burning  rocks  a  profound  and 
sharply-cut  chasm  suddenly  opens  and  winds,  forming  a 
hideous  valley,  such  as  may  exist  in  the  unpeopled 
moon,  but  which  probably  has  not  its  equal  in  our  world 
for  rugged  and  blasted  desolation.     There  is  no  brook 


LONG  JOURNEY.  217 

or  stream  in  the  depths  of  the  ravine.  If  a  torrent 
may  ever  rush  down  it  after  the  thunderstorms  with 
which  the  country  is  often  visited,  no  traces  of  water 
remain  even  in  the  early  spring.  Barren,  burning, 
glaring  rocks  alone  are  to  be  seen  on  every  side.  Far 
up  on  the  cliff,  like  a  fortress,  stands  the  gloomy,  win- 
dowless  walls  of  the  convent ;  but  along  the  ravine  in 
an  almost  inaccessible  gorge  of  the  hills,  are  caves  and 
holes  half-way  down  the  precipice,  —  the  dwellings  of 
the  hermits.  Here,  in  a  den  fit  for  a  fox  or  a  hyaena, 
one  poor  soul  had  died  just  before  my  visit,  after  five 
and  forty  years  of  self-incarceration.  Death  had 
released  him,  but  many  more  remained ;  and  we  could 
see  some  of  them  from  the  distant  road  as  we  passed, 
sitting  at  the  mouth  of  their  caverns,  or  walking  on  the 
little  ledges  of  rock  which  they  had  smoothed  for  ter- 
races. Their  food  (such  as  it  is)  is  sent  from  the  con- 
vent and  let  down  from  the  cliffs  at  needful  intervals. 
Otherwise  they  live  absolutely  alone,  —  alone  in  this 
hideous  desolation  of  nature,  with  the  lurid,  blasted 
desert  for  their  sole  share  in  God's  beautiful  universe. 
We  are  all,  I  suppose,  accustomed  to  think  of  a  Hermit 
as  our  poets  have  painted  him,  dwelling  serene  in  — 

"  A  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  continuity  of  shade," 

undisturbed  by  all  the  ugly  and  jarring  sights  and 
sounds  of  our  grinding  civilization  ;  sleeping  calmly  on 
his  bed  of  fern,  feeding  on  his  pulse  and  cresses,  and 
drinking  the  water  from  the  brook. 

"  He  kneels  at  morn,  at  noon  and  eve, 
He  hath  a  cushion  plump, 
It  is  the  moss  that  wholly  hides 
The  rotted  old  oak  stump." 

But  the  hermits  of  Mar  Saba,  how  different  are  they 
from  him  who  assoiled  the  Ancient  Mariner  ?  No  holy 
cloisters  of  the  woods,  and  sound  of  chanting  brooks, 


218  FENCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

and  hymns  of  morning  birds  :  only  this  silent,  burning 
waste,  this  "  desolation  deified."  It  seemed  as  if  some 
frightful  aberration  of  the  religious  sentiment  could 
alone  lead  men  to  choose  for  home,  temple,  prison, 
tomb,  the  one  spot  of  earth  where  no  flower  springs  to 
tell  of  God's  tenderness,  no  soft  dew  or  sweet  sound 
ever  falls  to  preach  faith  and  love. 

There  are  many  such  hermits  still  in  the  Greek 
Church.  I  have  seen  their  eyries  perched  where  only 
vultures  should  have  their  nests,  on  the  cliffs  of  Cara- 
mania,  and  among  the  caverns  of  the  Cyclades.  An- 
thony and  Stylites  have  indeed  left  behind  them  a 
track  of  evil  glory,  along  which  many  a  poor  wretch 
still  "crawls  to  heaven  along  the  devil's  trail."  Are 
not  lives  wasted  like  these  to  be  put  into  the  account 
when  we  come  to  estimate  the  Gesta  Christi?  Must 
we  not,  looking  on  these  and  on  the  ten  thousand  thou- 
sand hearts  broken  in  monasteries  and  nunneries  all 
over  Europe,  admit  that  historical  Christianity  has  not 
only  done  good  work  in  the  world,  but  bad  work  also ; 
and  that,  diverging  widely  from  the  Spirit  of  Christ,  it 
has  been  far  from  uniformly  beneficent  ? 

It  was  while  riding  some  hours  from  Mar  Saba 
.through  the  low  hills  before  coming  out  on  the  blighted 
flats  of  the  Dead  Sea,  that  one  of  those  pictures  passed 
before  me  which  are  ever  after  hung  up  in  the  mind's 
gallery  among  the  choicest  of  the  spoils  of  Eastern 
travel.  By  some  chance  I  was  alone,  riding  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  in  front  of  the  caravan,  when,  turning  the 
corner  of  a  hill,  I  met  a  man  approaching  me,  the  only 
one  I  had  seen  for  several  hours  since  we  passed  a  few 
black  tents  eight  or  ten  miles  away.  He  was  a  noble- 
looking  young  shepherd,  dressed  in  the  camel's-hair 
robe,  and  with  the  lithesome,  powerful  limbs  and  elastic 
step  of  the  children  of  the  desert.  But  the  interest 
which  attached  to  him  was  the  errand  on  which  he  had 
manifestlv  been  engaged  on  those  Dead  Sea  plains  from 


LONG  JOURNEY.  219 

whence  he  was  returning.  Round  his  neck,  and  with 
its  little  limbs  held  gently  by  his  hand,  lay  a  lamb  he 
had  rescued  and  was  doubtless  carrying  home.  The 
little  creature  lay  as  if  perfectly  contented  and  happy, 
and  the  man  looked  pleased  as  he  strode  along  lightly 
with  his  burden ;  and  as  I  saluted  him  with  the  usual 
gesture  of  pointing  to  heart  and  head  and  the  "  salaam 
alik "  (peace  be  with  you)  !  he  responded  with  a  smile 
and  a  kindly  glance  at  the  lamb,  to  which  he  saw  my 
eyes  were  directed.  It  was  actually  the  beautiful  par- 
able of  the  gospel  acted  out  before  my  sight.  Every 
particular  was  true  to  the  story :  the  shepherd  had 
doubtless  left  his  "  ninety-and-nine  in  the  wilderness," 
round  the  black  tents  we  had  seen  so  far  away,  and  had 
sought  for  the  lost  lamb  "  till  he  found  it,"  where  it 
must  quickly  have  perished  without  his  help,  among 
those  blighted  plains.  Literally,  too,  "when  he  had 
found  it,  he  laid  it  on  his  shoulders,  rejoicing." 

After  this  beautiful  sight  which  I  have  longed  ever 
since  for  a  painter's  power  to  place  on  canvas  (a  better 
subject  a  thousand-fold  than  the  cruel  "  Scape-Goat "), 
we  reached  the  Dead  Sea,  and  I  managed  to  dip  into  it, 
after  wading  out  a  very  long  way  in  the  shallow,  bitter, 
biting  water  which  stung  my  lips  and  nostrils,  and 
tasted  like  a  horrible  mixture  of  quinine  and  salt. 
From  the  shore,  all  strewed  with  the  white  skeletons 
of  trees  washed  down  by  the  river,  we  made  our  way 
(mostly  galloping),  in  four  hours  to  the  Ford  of  Jordan  ; 
and  there  I  had  the  privilege  of  another  dip,  or  rather 
of  seven  dips,  taken  in  commemoration  of  Naaman  and 
to  wash  off  the  Dead  Sea  brine !  It  is  the  spot  sup- 
posed to  have  witnessed  the  transit  of  Joshua  and  the 
baptisms  of  St.  John.  The  following  night  our  tents 
were  pitched  among  the  ruins  of  Jericho.  The  wonder 
is,  not  that  the  once  flourishing  city  should  be  deserted 
and  Herod's  great  amphitheatre  there  a  ruinous  heap, 
but  that  a  town  was  ever  built  in  such  an  insanitary 


220  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

place.  Closed  in  by  the  mountains  on  every  side  from 
whence  a  fresh  breeze  could  blow  upon  it,  and  open 
only  to  the  unwholesome  flats  of  the  Dead  Sea,  the 
situation  is  pestilential. 

Next  day  we  rode  back  to  Jerusalem  through  the 
desolate  mountains  of  the  Quarantania,  where  tradition 
places  the  mystic  Fast  and  Temptation  of  Christ :  a 
dreary,  lonely,  burning  desert.  Here,  also,  is  the  sup- 
posed scene  of  the  parable  of  the  Good  Samaritan,  and 
the  ruins  of  a  great  building,  which  may  have  been  a 
Half-way  House  Inn  beside  the  road,  bear  out  the  tradi- 
tion. I  have  often  reflected  that  orthodox  divines  miss 
half  the  point  of  that  beautiful  story  when  they  omit 
to  mark  the  fact  that  the  Samaritans  were,  in  Christ's 
time,  boycotted  by  the  Jews  as  heretics ;  and  that  it 
was  precisely  one  of  these  heretics  who  was  made  by 
Jesus  the  type  for  all  time  of  genuine  philanthropy,  — 
in  direct  and  purposeful  contrast  to  the  representatives 
of  Judaic  orthodoxy,  the  Priest  and  Levite. 

The  sun  on  my  head  during  the  latter  hours  of  the 
ride  became  intolerable ;  not  like  English  heat,  however 
excessive,  but  roasting  my  very  brains  through  all  the 
folds  of  linen  on  my  hat  and  of  a  damp  handkerchief 
within.  It  was  like  sitting  before  a  kitchen  fire  with 
one's  head  in  the  position  proper  for  a  leg  of  mutton  ! 
I  felt  it  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  escape,  and 
galloped  on  by  myself  in  advance  for  many  miles  till 
suddenly  I  came,  just  under  Bethany  at  the  base  of  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  to  a  magnificent  ancient  fountain, 
with  the  cool  water  gushing  out,  amid  the  massive  old 
masonry.  In  a  moment  I  leaped  from  my  equally  eager 
horse,  threw  off  my  hat  and  bared  my  neck  and  put  my 
head  under  the  blessed  stream.  Of  course  it  was  a  per- 
ilous proceeding,  but  it  saved  me  from  a  sunstroke. 

That  evening  in  Jerusalem  I  wished  good-bye  to  my 
pleasant  fellow-travellers,  who  were  good  enough  to 
pass  a  vote  of  thanks  to  me  for  my  "  unvarying  pluck 


LONG  JOURNEY.  221 

and  hilarity  during  the  fatigues  and  dangers  of  the 
way ! "  I  started  next  day  for  the  two  days'  ride  to 
Jaffa,  accompanied  only  by  a  good  Italian  named 
Abengo,  and  a  muleteer.  There  was  a  small  war  going 
on  between  some  of  the  tribes  on  the  way,  and  a  cer- 
tain chief  named  Aboo-Goosh  (beneath  whose  robber's 
castle  I  had  been  pelted  with  stones  on  my  way  up  to 
Jerusalem)  was  scouring  the  country.  We  passed,  in 
the  valley  of  Ajalon,  some  wounded  men  borne  home 
from  a  battle,  but  otherwise  encountered  nothing  alarm- 
ing, and  I  obtained  a  great  deal  of  curious  information 
from  Abengo,  who  knew  Palestine  intimately,  and 
whose  wife  was  a  Christian  woman  of  Nazareth.  There 
is  no  use  in  repeating  now  records  of  a  state  of  things 
which  has  been  modified,  no  doubt,  essentially  in  thirty 
years. 

From  Jaffa  I  sailed  to  Beyrout,  and  there,  with  kind 
help  and  advice  from  the  Consul,  I  obtained  the  services 
of  an  old  Turk  as  a  Dragoman,  and  he  and  I  and  a  mu- 
leteer laden  with  my  bed  and  baggage  started  to  cross 
Lebanon  and  make  our  way  to  Baalbec  and,  as  I  hoped, 
also  to  Damascus.  The  snows  were  still  thick  on  the 
higher  slopes  of  Lebanon,  and  after  the  excessive  heat 
I  had  just  undergone  in  Syria  the  cold  was  trying. 
But  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  those  noble  mountains, 
fringed  below  with  fig  and  olive,  and  with  their  snowy 
summits  rising  height  beyond  height  above,  was  com- 
pensation for  all  hardship.  By  a  curious  chance,  Leb- 
anon was  the  first  mountain  range  worthy  of  the  name 
which  I  had  ever  crossed.  It  was  an  introduction,  of 
course,  to  a  whole  world  of  impressions  and  exper- 
iences. 

I  had  a  good  many  escapes  in  the  course  of  my  ride ; 
there  being  nothing  to  be  called  a  road  over  much  of 
the  way,  and  such  path  as  there  was  being  covered  with 
snow  or  melting  torrents.  My  strong  little  Syrian 
horse  walked  and  scrambled  and  stumbled  up  beds  of 


222  FR+INCES  POWER   COBBE. 

streams  running  clown  in  cataracts  over  the  rocks  and 
boulders  ;  and  on  one  occasion  lie  had  to  bear  me  down 
a  very  steep  descent,  where  we  floundered  forward, 
sometimes  up  to  his  girths  in  the  snow,  in  dread  of 
descending  with  irresistible  impetus  to  the  edge  of  a 
precipice  which  yawned  at  the  bottom.  We  did  reach 
the  verge  in  rather  a  shaky  condition  ;  but  the  good 
beast  struggled  hard  to  save  himself,  and  turned  at  the 
critical  moment  safe  along  the  edge. 

A  sad  association  belongs  to  my  sojourn  among  the 
Maronites  at  Zachly  :  a  large  village  on  the  further  side 
of  Lebanon,  on  the  slopes  of  the  Haraun.  I  slept  there 
on  my  outward  way  in  my  tent  pitched  in  an  angle  of 
grass  outside  one  of  the  first  houses,  and  on  my  return 
journey  I  obtained  the  use  of  the  principal  room  of  the 
same  house  from  my  kind  hosts,  as  the  cold  outside 
was  too  considerable  for  tent  life  in  comfort.  Zachly 
was  a  very  humble,  simple  place.  The  houses  were  all 
of  mud,  with  flat  roofs  made  of  branches  laid  across 
and  covered  with  more  mud.  A  stem  of  a  living  tree 
usually  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  house  supporting 
the  whole  erection,  which  was  divided  into  two  or 
three  chambers.  A  recess  in  the  wall  held  piles  of 
mats  and  of  the  hard  cushions  made  of  raw  cotton, 
which  form  both  seats,  beds,  and  pillows.  The  rough, 
unplaned  door,  with  wooden  lock,  the  window  half 
stuffed  up,  the  abundant  population  of  cocks  and  hens, 
cats  and  dogs,  and  rosy  little  boys  and  girls,  strongly 
reminded  me  of  Balisk !  I  was  welcomed  most  kindly 
after  a  brief  negotiation  with  Hassan  ;  and  the  simple 
women  and  girls  clustered  around  me  with  soft  words 
and  presents  of  carrots  and  daffodils.  One  old  woman 
having  kissed  my  hands  as  a  beginning,  proceeded  to 
put  her  arms  round  my»neck  and  embrace  me  in  a 
most  motherly  way.  To  amuse  the  party,  I  showed 
them  my  travelling  bag,  luncheon  and  writing  and 
drawing  apparatus,  and  made  them  taste  my  biscuits 


LONG  JOURNEY.  223 

and  smell  my  toilet  vinegar.  Screams  of  "  Taib,  Taib ! 
Katiyeh ! "  (good,  very  good)  rewarded  my  small 
efforts,  and  then  I  made  them  tell  me  all  their 
names,  which  I  wrote  in  my  note-book.  They  were 
very  pretty:  Helena,  Mareen,  Yasmeen,  Myrrhi, 
Maroon,  Georgi,  Malachee,  Yussef,  and  several  others, 
the  last  being  Salieh,  the  young  village  priest,  a  tall, 
grand-looking  young  man  with  high  cylindrical  black 
hat,  black  robe,  and  flowing  brown  hair.  I  made  him  a 
respectful  salutation  at  which  he  seemed  pleased.  On 
my  second  visit  to  Zachly  I  attended  the  vesper  service 
in  his  little  chapel  as  the  sun  went  down  over  Lebanon. 
It  was  a  plain  quadrangle  of  mud  walls,  brown  without 
and  white-washed  within  ;  a  flat  roof  of  branches  and 
mortar ;  a  post  for  support  in  the  centre ;  a  confessional 
at  one  side ;  a  little  lectern ;  an  altar  without  crucifix 
and  only  decorated  by  two  candlesticks  ;  a  jar  of  fresh 
daffodils  ;  some  poor  prints ;  a  blue  tea-cup  for  sacra- 
mental plate,  and  a  little  cottage-window  into  which 
the  setting  sun  was  shining  softly  ;  —  such  was  the 
chapel  of  Zachly.  A  few  men  knelt  to  the  left,  a  few 
women  to  the  right ;  in  front  of  the  altar  was  a  group 
of  children,  also  kneeling,  and  waiting  to  take  their 
part  in  the  service.  At  the  lectern  stood  the  noble 
figure  of  young  Papas  Salieh,  leaning  on  one  of  the 
crutches  which  in  all  Eastern  churches  are  provided  to 
relieve  the  fatigue  of  the  attendants,  who  like  Abraham 
"worship,  leaning  on  the  top  of  a  staff."  Beside  the 
Papas  stood  a  ragged  but  intelligent  little  acolyte,  who 
chanted  very  well,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  lectern 
an  aged  peasant,  who  also  took  his  part.  The  prayers 
were,  of  course,  unintelligible  to  me,  being  in  Arabic ; 
but  I  recognized  in  the  Gospel  the  chapter  of  genealo- 
gies in  Luke,  over  whose  hard  names  the  priest  helped 
his  friend  quite  unaffectedly.  The  reading  over,  Papas 
Salieh  took  off  his  black  and  red  cap,  and,  kneeling 
before  the  altar,  commenced  another  chanted  prayer, 


224  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

while  the  women  beside  me  bowed  till  they  kissed  the 
ground  in  Eastern  prostration,  beating  their  breasts 
with  resounding  blows.  The  group  of  children  made 
the  responses  at  intervals ;  and  then  the  priest  blessed 
us,  and  the  simple  service  was  over,  having  occupied 
about  twenty  minutes.  While  we  were  departing,  the 
Papas  seated  himself  in  the  confessional  and  a  man 
went  immediately  into  the  penitents'  place  beside  him. 
There  was  something  very  affecting  to  me  in  this  poor 
little  church  of  clay,  with  its  humble  efforts  at  clean- 
liness and  flowers  and  music  ;  all  built  and  adorned  by 
the  worshippers'  own  hands,  and  served  by  the  young 
peasant  priest,  doubtless  the  son  and  brother  of  some  of 
his  own  flock. 

As  I  have  said  there  are  sad  associations  connected 
with  this  visit  of  mine  to  Zachly.  A  very  short  time 
afterwards  the  Druses  came  down  with  irresistible  force, 
—  massacred  the  greater  number  of  the  unhappy  Maron- 
ites  and  burned  the  village.  The  spot  where  I  had 
been  so  kindly  received  was  left  a  heap  of  blackened 
ruins,  and  what  became  of  sweet,  motherly  Helena 
and  her  dear  little  children  and  good  Papas  Salieh  and 
the  rest,  I  have  never  been  able  to  learn. 

It  took  six  hours  of  hard  riding  in  a  bitter  wind  to 
carry  me  from  Zachly  to  Baalbec ;  but  anticipation  bore 
me  on  wings,  and  to  beguile  the  way  I  repeated  to 
myself  as  my  good  memory  permitted,  the  whole  of 
Moore's  poem  of  "  Paradise  and  the  Peri,"  culminating 
in  the  scene  which  the  Peri  beheld,  "  When  o'er  the  vale 
of  Baalbec  winging."  In  vain,  however,  I  cross-ques- 
tioned Hassan  (we  talked  Italian  tant  Men  que  mal) 
about  Peris.  He  had  never  heard  of  such  beings.  But 
of  Djinns  in  general  he  knew  only  too  much ;  and  not- 
ably that  they  had  built  the  vast  ruins  of  Baalbec, 
which  no  mortal  hands  could  have  raised ;  and  that  to 
the  present  time  they  haunt  them  so  constantly  and  in 
such  terrific  shape,  that  it  is  very  perilous  for  anybody 


LONG  JOURNEY.  225 

to  go  there  alone  and  quite  impossible  to  do  so  after 
nightfall.  I  had  reason  to  bless  this  belief  in  the  Djinns 
of  Baalbec  for  it  left  me  the  undisturbed  solitary  enjoy- 
ment of  the  mighty  enclosure  within  the  Saracenic  walls 
for  the  best  part  of  two  days,  unvexed  by  the  inquisitive 
presence  or  observation  of  the  population  of  the  Arab 
village  outside. 

To  pitch  my  tent  among  the  ruins,  however,  was 
more  than  I  could  bring  Hassan  to  do  by  any  cajoling, 
and  I  consented  finally  to  sleep  in  a  small  cabin  con- 
sisting of  a  single  chamber  of  which  I  could  lock  the 
door  inside.  When  I  prepared  for  sleep  on  the  hard  cot- 
ton cushions  laid  over  a  stone  bench,  and  with  the  two 
unglazed  windows  admitting  volumes  of  cold  air,  I  was 
frightened  to  find  I  had  every  symptom  of  approaching 
fever.  Into  what  an  awful  position  —  I  reflected  —  had 
I  put  myself,  with  no  one  but  that  old  Turk  Hassan, 
and  the  Arab  from  whom  I  had  hired  this  little  house 
for  the  night,  to  take  care  of  me  should  I  have  a  real 
bad  fever,  and  be  kept  there  between  life  and  death  for 
weeks !  Keflecting  what  I  could  possibly  do  to  avert 
the  danger,  brought  on,  of  course,  by  cold  and  fatigue,  I 
took  from  my  bag  the  half  bottle  of  Raki  (a  very  pure 
spirit  made  from  rice)  which  my  travelling  friends  had 
brought  from  the  monastery  at  Mar  Saba  and  had  kindly 
shared  with  me  ;  and  to  a  large  dose  of  this  I  was  able 
to  add  some  hot  water  from  a  sort  of  coffee-pot  left,  by 
good  luck,  in  the  yet  warm  brazier  of  charcoal  in  the 
middle  of  my  room.  I  drank  my  Raki-toddy  to  the  last 
drop,  and  then  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just,  —  to  awaken 
quite  well  the  next  morning !  And  if  any  of  my  teeto- 
tal friends  think  I  did  wrong  to  take  it,  I  beg  entirely 
to  differ  from  them  on  the  subject. 

The  days  which  I  spent  in  and  around  Baalbec  were 
more  than  repayment  for  the  fatigues  and  perils  of  the 
passage  of  "  Sainted  Lebanon ;  "  whose  famous  Cedars, 
by  the  way,  I  was  unable  to  visit ;  the  region  where 


226  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

they  stand  being  at  that  season  too  deeply  covered 
with  snow.  Here  is  a  description  I  gave  of  Baalbec  to 
Harriet  St.  Leger  just  after  my  visit :  — 

"  I  had  two  wonderful  days  indeed  in  Baalbec.  The 
number  of  the  vast  solitary  ruins  exceeded  all  my  antici- 
pations, and  their  grandeur  impresses  one  as  no  remains 
less  completely  isolated  can  do.  Imagine  a  space  about 
that  of  Newbridge  garden  surrounded  by  enormous  Sar- 
acenic walls  with  a  sweet,  bright  brook  running  round 
it,  and  then  left  to  entire  solitude.  A  few  cattle  browse 
on  the  short  grass,  and  now  and  then,  I  suppose,  some 
one  enters  by  one  or  other  of  the  different  gaps  in  the 
wall  to  look  after  them  ;  but  in  the  Temple  of  Jupiter, 
shut  in  by  its  great  walls,  to  which  the  displacement  of 
a  single  stone  makes  now  the  sole  entrance,  no  one  ever 
enters.  The  fear  of  Djinns  renders  the  place  even  doubly 
alarming  !  Among  the  most  awful  things  in  Baalbec  are 
stupendous  subterranean  tunnels  running  in  various  di- 
rections under  the  ruined  city.  I  groped  through  several 
of  them ;  they  opened  out  with  great  doorways  into  others 
which,  having  no  light,  I  would  not  explore,  but  which 
seemed  abysses  of  awe  !  The  stones  of  all  these  works 
are  enormous.  Those  five  or  six  feet  and  twelve  or  fif- 
teen feet  long  are  among  the  smallest.  In  the  temple 
were  some  which  I  could  not  span  with  five  extensions 
of  my  arms,  i.  e.,  something  like  thirty  feet,  but  there 
are  still  larger  elsewhere  among  the  ruins." 

The  shafts  of  the  columns  of  the  two  temples,  —  the 
six  left  standing  of  the  great  temple  of  the  Sun  which 

"  Stand  sublime, 
Casting  their  shadows  from  on  high 
Like  Dials  which  the  wizard  Time 
Had  raised  to  count  his  ages  by  "  — 

and  those  of  the  hypsethral  temple  of  Zeus  of  which 
only  a  few  have  fallen,  are  alike  miracles  of  size  and 
perfection  of  moulding.  The  fragments  of  palaces 
reveal  magnificence  unparalleled.     All  these  enormous 


LONG  JOURNEY.  227 

edifices  are  wrought  with  such  lavish  luxuriance  of  im- 
agination, such  perfection  of  detail  in  harmony  with  the 
luscious  Corinthian  style  which  pervades  the  whole,  that 
the  idea  of  the  Arabs  that  they  are  the  work  not  of  men 
but  of  Genii  seemed  quite  natural.  I  recalled  what 
Vitruvius  (who  wrote  about  the  time  in  which  the  best 
of  these  temples  was  erected)  says  of  the  methods 
by  which,  in  his  day,  the  largest  stones  were  moved 
from  quarries  and  lifted  to  their  places,  but  I  failed  to 
comprehend  how  the  colossal  work  was  achieved  here. 

Passing  out  of  the  great  ruined  gateway  I  came  to 
vast  square  and  hexagonal  courts  with  walls  forming 
exedrse,  loaded  with  profusion  of  ornaments  ;  columns, 
entablatures,  niches,  and  seats  overhung  with  carvings 
of  garlands  of  flowers  and  the  wings  of  fanciful  crea- 
tures. Streets,  gateways,  and  palaces,  hardly  distinguish- 
able in  their  ruin,  follow  on  beyond  the  courts  and  por- 
tico. I  climbed  up  a  shattered  stair  to  the  summit  of 
the  Saracenic  wall  and  felt  a  sort  of  shock  to  behold  the 
living  world  below  me ;  the  glittering  brook,  the  almond 
trees  in  blossom  and  Anti-Lebanon  beyond.  Here  I 
caught  sight  of  the  well-known  exquisite  little  circular 
temple  with  its  colonnade  of  six  Corinthian  columns,  of 
which  the  architraves  are  recurved  inwards  from  col- 
umn to  column.  If  I  am  not  mistaken  a  reproduction 
of  this  lovely  little  building  was  set  up  in  Kew  Gardens 
in  the  last  century. 

Last  of  all  I  returned  to  the  Temple  of  Zeus  —  or  of 
Baal  as  it  is  sometimes  called  —  to  spend  there  in  secure 
solitude  (except  for  Djinns  !)  the  closing  hours  of  that 
long,  rich  day.  The  large  walls  are  almost  perfect ;  the 
colonnades  of  enormous  pillars  are  mostly  still  standing. 
Prom  the  inner  portal  with  its  magnificent  lintel  half 
fallen  from  its  place,  the  view  is  probably  the  finest  of 
any  fane  of  the  ancient  world,  and  was  to  me  impressive 
beyond  description.  Even  the  spot  where  the  statue  of 
the  god  has  stood  can  easily  be  traced.     A  great  stone 


228  FRsLNCES  POWER   COBBE. 

lying  overturned  on  the  pavement  was  doubtless  the 
pedestal.  I  remained  for  hours  in  this  temple ;  some- 
times feebly  trying  to  sketch  what  I  saw,  sometimes 
lost  in  ponderings  on  the  faiths  and  worships  of  the 
past  and  present.  A  hawk,  which  probably  had  never 
before  found  a  human  visitor  at  even-tide  in  that  weird 
place,  came  swooping  over  me ;  then  gave  a  wild  shriek 
and  flew  away.  A  little  later  the  moon  rose  over  the 
walls.  The  calm  and  silence  and  beauty  of  that  scene 
can  never  be  forgotten. 

I  was  unable  to  pursue  my  journey  to  Damascus  as  I 
had  designed.  The  muleteer,  with  all  my  baggage,  con- 
trived to  miss  us  on  the  road  among  the  hills  in  Anti- 
Lebanon  ;  and,  eventually,  after  another  visit  to  the 
ruins  and  to  the  quarries  from  whence  the  vast  stones 
were  taken,  I  rode  back  to  Zachly  and  thence  (a  two 
days'  ride)  over  Lebanon  to  Beyrout. 

I  remained  a  few  days  at  the  hotel  which  then  ex- 
isted a  mile  from  the  town,  while  I  waited  for  the 
steamer  to  take  me  to  Athens,  and  much  enjoyed  the 
lovely  scene  of  rich  mulberry  and  almond  gardens  beside 
the  shell-strewn  strand,  with  snowy  Lebanon  behind, 
towering  over  the  fir-woods  into  the  deep  blue  sky.  The 
Syrian  peasant  women  are  sweet,  courteous  creatures. 
One  day  as  I  sat  under  a  cactus-hedge  reading  Shelley, 
a  pretty  young  mother  came  by,  and  after  interchanging 
a  "  Peace  be  with  you,"  proceeded  unhesitatingly,  and 
without  a  word  of  explanation,  to  deposit  her  baby  — 
Mustapha  by  name  —  in  my  lap.  I  was  very  willing 
to  nurse  Mustapha,  and  we  made  friends  at  once  as 
easily  as  his  mother  had  done  ;  and  my  heart  was  the 
better  for  the  encounter ! 

After  I  had  paid  off  Hassan  and  settled  my  account 
at  the  hotel,  I  found  my  financial  condition  exceedingly 
bad  !  I  had  just  enough  cash  remaining  to  carry  me 
(omitting  a  few  meals)  by  second-class  passage  to 
Athens :   which   was   the   nearest  place    where   I   had 


LONG  JOURNEY.  229 

opened  a  credit  from  my  bankers,  or  where  I  had  any 
introductions.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  take  a 
second-class  place  on  board  the  Austrian  Lloyd's 
steamer  L'lmperatrice ;  though  it  was  not  a  pleasant 
arrangement,  seeing  that  there  was  no  other  woman 
passenger  and  no  stewardess  on  the  ship  at  all.  Never- 
theless this  was  just  one  of  the  cases  in  which  knock- 
ing about  the  world  brought  me  favorable  experience 
of  human  nature.  The  Captain  of  the  Imperatrice,  an 
Italian  gentleman,  did  his  utmost,  with  extreme  delicacy 
and  good  taste,  to  make  my  position  comfortable.  He 
ordered  his  own  dinner  to  be  served  in  the  second 
cabin  that  he  might  preside  at  the  table  instead  of 
one  of  his  subordinates  ;  and  during  the  day  he  came 
often  to  see  that  I  was  well  placed  and  shaded  on 
deck,  and  to  interchange  a  little  pleasant  talk,  without 
intrusion. 

It  is  truly  one  of  the  silliest  of  the  many  silly  things 
in  the  education  of  women  that  we  are  taught  little  or 
nothing  about  the  simplest  matters  of  banking  and 
stock-and-share  buying  and  selling.  I,  who  had  always 
had  money  in  abundance  given  me  straight  into  my 
hand,  knew  absolutely  nothing,  when  my  father's  death 
left  me  to  arrange  my  affairs,  how  such  business  is  done, 
how  shares  are  bought  and  sold,  how  credits  are  open  at 
corresponding  bankers ;  how,  even,  to  draw  a  cheque  ! 
It  all  seemed  to  me  a  most  perilous  matter,  and  I  feared 
that  I  might,  in  those  remote  regions,  come  to  grief  any 
day  by  the  refusal  of  some  local  banker  to  honor  my 
cheques  or  by  the  neglect  of  my  London  bankers  to  be- 
speak credit  for  me.  My  means  were  so  narrow,  and  I 
had  so  little  experience  of  the  expenses  of  living  and 
travelling,  that  I  was  greatly  exercised  as  to  my  small 
concerns.  I  brought  with  me  (generally  tied  by  a 
string  round  my  neck  and  concealed)  a  very  valuable 
diamond  ring  to  sell  in  case  I  came  to  real  disaster ;  but 
it  had  been  constantly  worn  by  my  mother ;  and  I  felt 


230  FBANCES  POWER    COBBE. 

at  Beyrout  that,  sooner  than  sell   it,  I  would  live  on 
short  commons  for  much  more  than  a  week ! 

One  day  of  our  voyage  I  spent  at  Cyprus,  where  I 
admired  the  ancient  church  of  San  Lazzaro,  half  mosque, 
half  church,  and  said  to  be  the  final  grave  of  Lazarus. 
I  had  visited  his,  supposed,  temporary  one  in  Bethany. 
Another  clay  I  landed  at  Rhodes,  and  was  able  to  see 
the  ruined  street  which  bears  over  each  house  the  arms 
of  the  Knight  to  whom  it  belonged.  At  the  upper  end 
of  the  way  are  still  visible  the  arch  and  shattered  relics 
of  their  church.  Writing  to  Miss  St.  Leger,  March 
28th,  I  described  my  environment  thus  :  — 

Dearest  Harriet,  —  Behold  me  seated  a  la  Turque 
close  to  a  party  of  Moslem  gentlemen  who  alternately 
smoke  and  say  their  prayers  all  day  long.  AVe  are 
steaming  up  through  the  lovely  "  Isles  of  Greece,"  hav- 
ing left  Rhodes  this  morning  and  Cos  an  hour  ago.  As 
we  pass  each  wild  cape  and  green  shore  I  take  up  a  cer- 
tain opera  glass  with  "  H.  S."  on  the  top  of  the  box,  and 
wish  very  much  I  could  see  through  it  the  dear,  kind 
eyes  that  used  it  once.  They  would  be  pleasanter  to 
see  than  all  these  scenes,  glorious  as  they  are.  The 
sun  is  going  down  into  the  calm  blue  sea  and  throwing 
purple  lights  already  on  the  countless  islands  through 
which  the  vessel  winds  its  way.  White  sea-gulls  follow 
us,  and  beautiful  little  quaint-sailed  boats  appear  every 
now  and  then  round  the  islands.  The  peculiar  beauty 
of  this  famous  passage  is  derived,  however,  from  the 
bold  and  varied  outline  of  the  islands  and  adjoining 
coast  of  Asia  Minor.  From  little  rocks  not  larger  than 
the  ship  itself,  up  to  large  provinces  with  extensive 
towns  like  Cos,  there  is  an  endless  variety  and  boldness 
of  form.  Ireland's  Eye,  magnified  to  twice  the  height, 
is,  I  should  say,  the  commonest  type.  In  some  almost 
inaccessible  cliffs  one  sees  hermitages  ;  in  others,  con- 
vents.    I  shall  post  this  at  Smyrna. 


LONG  JOURNEY.  231 

As  the  Imperatrice  stopped  two  or  three  days  in  the 
magnificent  harbor  of  Smyrna  I  had  good  opportunity 
to  land  and  make  my  way  to  the  scene  of  Polycarp's 
Martyrdom  amid  the  colossal  cypresses  which  outdo  all 
those  of  Italy,  except  the  quincentenarians  in  the 
Giusti  garden  in  Verona.  It  was  Easter,  and  a  ridicu- 
lous incident  occurred  on  the  Saturday.  I  was  busy 
writing  in  the  cabin  of  the  Imperatrice  at  mid-day, 
when,  subito  !  there  were  explosions  in  our  vessel  and 
in  a  hundred  other  vessels  in  the  harbor,  again  and 
again  and  again,  as  if  a  battle  of  Trafalgar  were  going 
on  all  round !  I  rushed  on  deck  and  found  the  steward 
standing  calm  and  cheerful  amid  the  terrific  noise  and 
smoke.  "  For  God's  sake  what  has  happened  ? "  I 
cried,  breathless.  "  Nothing,  Signora,  nothing  !  It  is 
the  Royal  Salute  all  the  ships  are  firing,  of  twenty-one 
guns." 

"  In  honor  of  whom  ?  "  I  asked,  somewhat  less 
alarmed. 

"  Iddio,  Signora !  Gesii  Cristo,  sicuro  !  E  il  moinento 
della  Resurrezione,  si  sa." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  I  said.  "  Xot  on  Saturday.  It  was  on 
Sunday,  you  know  !  " 

"  Che,  che  !  Dicono  forse  cosi  i  Protestanti !  Sappi- 
amo  noi  altri,  che  era  il  Sabato." 

I  never  got  to  the  bottom  of  this  mystery,  but  can 
testify  that  at  Smyrna,  in  1858,  there  were  many  scores 
of  these  Royal  Salutes  (!)  on  Holy  Saturday,  at  noon, 
in  honor  of  the  Resurrection. 

It  was  one  of  the  brightest  hours  of  my  happy  life, 
that  on  which  I  stood  on  the  deck  of  our  ship  at  sun- 
rise and  passed  under  "Suniuui's  marble  steep"  and 
knew  that  I  was  approaching  Athens.  As  we  steamed 
up  the  gulf,  the  red  clouds  flamed  over  Fames  and 
Hymettus  and  lighted  up  the  hills  of  Peloponnesus. 
The  bright  blue  waves  were  dancing  under  our  prow, 


232  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

and  I  could  see  over  them,  far  away,  the  "  rocky  brow 
which  looks  o'er  sea-born  Salarnis,"  where  Xerxes  sat 
on  his  silver-footed  throne  on  such  a  morn  as  this. 
Above,  to  our  right,  over  the  olive  woods,  with  the 
rising  sun  behind  it,  like  a  crowned  hill,  was  the  Acrop- 
olis of  Athens  and  the  Parthenon  upon  it. 

Very  soon  I  had  landed  at  the  Piraeus  and  had  en- 
gaged a  carriage  (there  was  no  railway  then)  to  take 
me  to  Athens.  The  drive  was  enchanting,  between 
olive  groves  and  vineyards,  and  with  the  Temple  of 
Theseus  and  the  buildings  on  the  Acropolis  coming  into 
view  as  I  approached  Athens,  till  I  was  beside  myself 
with  delight  and  excitement.  The  first  thing  to  do  was 
to  drive  to  the  private  house  of  the  banker  to  whom  I 
was  recommended,  to  arouse  the  poor  old  gentleman 
(nothing  loath,  apparently,  to  do  business  even  at  seven 
o'clock),  to  draw  fifty  sovereigns,  and  then  to  go  to  the 
French  Hotel,  choose  a  room  with  a  fine  vieAv  of  the 
Parthenon,  and  to  say  to  the  master :  "  Send  me  the 
very  best  dejeuner  you  can  provide  and  a  bottle  of 
Samian  wine,  and  let  this  letter  be  taken  to  Mr.  Finlay." 
That  breakfast,  with  that  view,  was  a  feast  of  the  gods 
after  my  many  abstinencies,  though  I  nearly  "  dashed 
down  the  cup  of  Samian  wine,"  not  in  patriotic  despair 
for  Greece,  but  because  it  was  so  abominably  bad  that 
no  poetry  could  have  been  made  out  of  it  by  Anacreon 
himself.  Hardly  had  I  finished  my  meal  when  Mr. 
Finlay  appeared  at  my  door,  having  hurried  with  infi- 
nite kindness  to  welcome  me,  and  do  honor  to  the  intro- 
duction of  his  cousin,  my  dear  sister-in-law.  "  I  put 
myself,"  said  he,  "  at  your  orders  for  the  day.  We  will 
go  wherever  you  please." 

It  would  be  unfair  to  inflict  on  the  reader  a  detailed 
account  of  all  I  saw  at  Athens  under  the  admirable  guid- 
ance of  Mr.  Finlay  during  a  week  of  intensest  enjoy- 
ment. Mr.  Finlay  (it  can  scarcely  yet  be  forgotten) 
went  out  to  Greece  a  few  weeks  or  months  before  Byron, 


LONG  JOURNEY.  233 

and  fought  with  him  and  after  him  through  the  War  of 
Independence.  After  this,  having  married  a  beautiful 
Armenian  lady,  be  bought  much  land  in  Eubcea,  built 
himself  a  handsome  house  in  Athens  and  lived  there  for 
the  rest  of  his  life,  writing  his  great  History  (in  five 
volumes)  of  "  Greece  under  Foreign  Domination ; "  mak- 
ing a  magnificent  collection  of  coins  ;  and  acting  for 
many  years  as  the  "  Times  "  correspondent  at  Athens. 
He  was  not  only  a  highly  erudite  archaeologist,  but  an 
enthusiast  for  the  land  of  his  adoption  and  all  its  tri- 
umphs of  art ;  in  short,  the  best  of  all  possible  ciceroni. 
I  was  fortunately  not  wholly  unprepared  to  profit  by 
his  learned  expositions  and  delicate  observation  on  the 
architecture  of  the  glorious  ruins,  for  I  had  made  copies 
of  prints  of  all  at  Athens  and  elsewhere  in  Greece  with 
ground-plans  and  restorations  and  notes  of  everything  I 
could  learn  about  them,  many  years  before  when  I  was 
wont  to  amuse  myself  with  drawing  while  my  mother 
read  to  me.  I  found  that  I  knew  beforehand  nearly 
exactly  what  remained  of  the  Parthenon  and  the  Erech- 
theum  and  the  Temple  of  Victory,  the  Propylaeum  on 
the  Acropolis  and  the  Theseium  below ;  and  it  was  of 
intensest  interest  to  me  to  learn,  under  Mr.  Finlay's 
guidance,  precisely  where  the  Elgin  Marbles  had  stood, 
and  to  note  the  extraordinary  fact,  on  which  he  insisted 
much,  —  that  there  is  not  a  single  straight  line  in  the 
whole  Parthenon.  Everything,  down  to  single  stones  in 
the  entablatures  and  friezes,  is  curved,  in  some  cases, 
he  felt  assured,  after  they  had  been  placed  in  situ.  The 
extreme  entasis  of  the  columns  and  the  great  pyramidal 
inclination  of  the  whole  building,  were  most  noticeable 
when  attention  was  once  drawn  to  them.  As  we  ap- 
proached the  majestic  ruins  of  Adrian's  Temple  of  Jup- 
iter on  the  plains  below  (that  enormous  temple  which 
had  double  rows  of  columns  surrounding  it  and  quad- 
ruple rows  in  front  and  back  of  ten  columns  each)  I 
exclaimed,  "  Why  !  there   ought   to   be   three  columns 


234  FRANCES  POWER    COB  BE. 

standing  at  that  far  angle  ! "  "  Quite  true,"  said  Mr. 
Finlay,  "  one  of  them  fell  just  six  weeks  ago." 

Since  this  visit  of  mine  to  Athens  a  vast  deal  has 
been  done  to  clear  away  the  remains  of  the  Turkish 
tower  and  other  barbaric  buildings  which  obstructed 
and  desecrated  the  summit  of  the  Acropolis  ;  and  the 
fortunate  visitor  may  now  see  the  whole  Propylseum 
and  all  the  spaces  open  and  free,  beside  examining  the 
very  numerous  statues  and  bas  reliefs,  some  quaintly 
archaic,  some  of  the  best  age  and  splendidly  beautiful, 
which  have  been  dug  out  in  recent  years  in  Greece. 

I  envy  every  visitor  to  Athens  now,  but  console  my- 
self by  procuring  photographs  of  all  the  finds  from 
those  excellent  artists,  Thoma'ides  Brothers. 

Mr.  Finlay  spoke  much  of  Byron  in  answer  to  my 
questions,  and  described  him  as  a  most  singular  com- 
bination of  romance  and  astuteness.  The  Greeks  ima- 
gined that  a  man  capable  of  such  enthusiasm  as  to  go  to 
war  for  their  enfranchisement  must  have  a  rather  soft 
head  as  well  as  warm  heart ;  but  they  were  much  mis- 
taken when  they  tried  in  their  simplicity  to  exploiter 
him  in  matters  of  finance.  There  were  self-devoted  and 
disinterested  patriots,  but  there  were  also  (as  was  inevi- 
table) among  the  insurgents  many  others  who  had  a 
sharp  eye  to  their  own  financial  and  political  schemes. 
Byron  saw  through  these  men  (Mr.  Finlay  said)  with 
astounding  quickness,  and  never  allowed  them  to  guide 
or  get  the  better  of  him  in  any  negotiation.  About 
money  matters  he  considered  he  was  inclined  to  be 
"  closefisted."  This  was  an  opinion  strongly  confirmed 
to  me  some  months  later  by  Walter  Savage  Landor, 
who  repeatedly  remarked  that  Byron's  behavior  in  sev- 
eral occurrences,  while  in  Italy,  was  far  from  liberal, 
and  that,  luxuriously  as  he  chose  to  live,  he  was  by  no 
means  ready  to  pay  freely  for  his  luxury.  Shelley  on 
the  contrary,  though  he  lived  most  simply  and  was 
always  hard  pressed   for   money  by  William  Godwin 


LONG  JOURNEY.  235 

(whom  Fanny  Kemble  delightfully  described  to  me 
a  projjos  of  Dowden's  Memoirs,  as  "  one  of  those  greatly 
gifted  and  greatly  borrowing  people  !  "  ),  was  punctilious 
to  the  last  degree  in  paying  his  debts  and  even  those  of 
his  friends.  There  was  a  story  of  a  boat  purchased  by 
both  Byron  and  Shelley  which  I  cannot  trust  my  mem- 
ory to  recall  accurately  as  Mr.  Landor  told  it  to  me,  and 
which  I  do  not  exactly  recognize  in  the  Memoirs,  but 
which  certainly  amounted  to  this,  —  that  Byron  left 
Shelley  to  pay  for  their  joint  purchase,  and  that  Shelley 
did  so,  though  at  the  time  he  was  in  extreme  straits  for 
money.  All  the  impressions,  I  may  here  remark,  which 
I  gathered  at  that  time  in  Greece  and  Italy  (1858), 
where  there  were  yet  a  few  alive  who  personally  knew 
both  these  great  poets,  was  in  favor  of  Shelley  and 
against  Byron.  Talking  over  them  many  years  after- 
wards with  Mazzini  I  was  startled  by  the  vehemence 
with  which  he  pronounced  his  preference  for  Byron,  as 
the  one  who  had  tried  to  put  his  sympathy  with  a  strug- 
gling nation  into  practice,  and  had  died  in  the  noble 
attempt.  This  was  natural  enough  on  the  part  of  the 
Italian  patriot ;  but  I  think  the  vanity  and  tendency  to 
"  pose,"  which  formed  so  large  a  part  of  Byron's  char- 
acter, had  probably  more  to  do  with  this  last  acted  Canto 
of  "Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,"  than  Mazzini  (who 
had  no  such  foibles)  was  likely  to  understand.  The 
following  curious  glimpse  of  Byron  at  Venice  before  he 
went  to  Greece  occurs  in  an  autograph  letter  in  my 
possession,  by  Mrs.  Hemans  to  the  late  Miss  Margaret 
Lloyd.     It  seems  worth  quoting  here. 

Bronwylfa,  7th  April,  1819. 
Your  affection  for  Lord  Byron  will  not  be  much  in- 
creased by  the  description  I  am  going  to  transcribe  for 
you  of  his  appearance  and  manners  abroad.  My  sister, 
who  is  now  at  Venice,  has  sent  me  the  following  sketch 
of  the  "  Giaour  : "  "  We  were  presented  at  the  Gover- 


236  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

nor's,  after  which  we  went  to  a  conversazione  at  Mile. 
Benzoni's,  where  we  saw  Lord  Byron ;  and  now  my  cu- 
riosity is  gratified,  I  have  no  wish  ever  to  see  him  again. 
A  more  wretched,  depraved-looking  countenance  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine !  His  hair  streaming  almost 
down  to  his  shoulders  and  his  whole  appearance  slovenly 
and  even  dirty.  Still  there  is  a  something  which  im- 
pels you  to  look  at  his  face,  although  it  inspires  you 
with  aversion,  a  something  entirely  different  from  any 
expression  on  any  countenance  I  ever  beheld  before. 
His  character,  I  hear,  is  worse  than  ever ;  dreadful  it 
must  be,  since  every  one  says  he  is  the  most  dissipated 
person  in  Italy,  exceeding  even  the  Italians  them- 
selves." 

Shortly  before  my  visit  to  Athens  an  article,  or  book, 
by  Mr.  Trelawney  had  been  published  in  England,  in 
which  that  writer  asserted  that  Byron's  lame  leg  was  a 
most  portentous  deformity,  like  the  fleshless  leg  of  a 
Satyr.  I  mentioned  this  to  Mr.  Einlay,  who  laughed, 
and  said :  "  That  reminds  me  of  what  Byron  said  of 
Trelawney  :  '  If  we  could  but  make  Trelawney  wash  his 
hands  and  speak  the  truth,  we  might  make  a  gentleman 
of  him ! '  Of  course,"  continued  Mr.  Finlay,  "  I  saw 
Byron's  legs  scores  of  times,  for  we  bathed  together 
daily  whenever  we  were  near  the  sea  or  a  river,  and 
there  was  nothing  wrong  with  the  leg,  only  an  ordinary 
and  not  very  bad  club/ooi." 

Among  the  interesting  facts  which  Mr.  Finlay  gave 
me  as  the  results  of  his  historical  researches  in  Greece 
was  that  a  school  of  philosophy  continued  to  be  held  in 
the  Groves  of  the  Academe  (through  which  we  were 
walking  at  the  moment),  for  nine  hundred  years  from 
the  time  of  Plato.  A  fine  collection  of  gold  and  silver 
coins  which  he  had  made  afforded,  under  his  guidance, 
a  sort  of  running  commentary  on  the  history  of  the 
Byzantine  Empire.     There  were  series  of  three  and  four 


LONG  JOURNEY.  237 

reigns  during  which  the  coins  became  visibly  worse  and 
worse,  till  at  last  there  was  no  silver  in  them  at  all,  only 
base  metal  of  some  sort ;  and  then,  things  having  come 
to  the  worst,  there  was  a  revolution,  a  new  dynasty, 
and  a  brand  new  and  pure  coinage. 

The  kindness  of  this  very  able  man  and  of  his  charm- 
ing wife  was  not  limited  to  playing  cicerone  to  me. 
Nothing  could  exceed  their  hospitality.  The  first  day  I 
dined  at  their  house  a  party  of  agreeable  and  particu- 
larly fashionably  dressed  Greek  ladies  and  gentlemen 
were  assembled.  As  we  waited  for  dinner  the  door 
opened  and  a  magnificent  figure  appeared,  whom  I  nat- 
urally took  for,  at  least,  an  Albanian  Chief,  and  pre- 
pared myself  for  an  interesting  presentation.  He  wore 
a  short  green  velvet  jacket  covered  with  gold  embroid- 
ery, a  crimson  sash,  an  enormous  white  muslin  kilt  (I 
afterwards  learned  it  contained  sixty  yards  of  muslin, 
and  that  the  washing  thereof  is  a  function  of  the  high- 
est responsibility),  and  leggings  of  green  and  gold  to 
match  the  jacket.  One  moment  this  splendid  vision 
stood  six  feet  high  in  the  doorway ;  the  next  he  bowed 
profoundly  and  pronounced  the  consecrated  formula: 
"  Madame  est  servie  !  "  and  we  went  to  dinner,  where 
he  waited  admirably. 

Some  year  or  two  later,  after  I  had  published  some 
records  of  my  travels,  and  sent  them  to  Mr.  Finlay,  I 
received  from  him  the  following  letter  :  — 

Athens,  26th  May. 

My  dear  Miss  Cobbe, —  Baron  von  Schmidthals  sent 
me  your  letter  of  the  18th  April  with  the  "  Cities  of 
the  Past "  yesterday ;  his  baggage  having  been  detained 
at  Syria.  The  post  brought  me  Eraser  with  a  "  Day  at 
Athens  "  with  due  regularity,  and  now  accept  my  sin- 
cere thanks  for  both.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  neglect  in 
not  thanking  you  sooner  for  Fraser,  but  I  did  not  know 
your  address.     I  felt  grateful  for  it,  having  been  very, 


238  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

very  often  tired  of  "  Days  at  Athens  !  "  It  was  a  treat 
to  meet  so  pleasant  a  "  day,"  and  have  another  pleasant 
day  recalled.  Others  to  whom  I  lent  Fraser,  told  me 
the  "  Day  "  was  delightful.  I  had  heard  of  your  mis- 
fortune but  I  hoped  you  had  entirely  recovered,  and  I 
regret  to  hear  that  you  use  crutches  still.  I,  too,  am 
weak  and  can  walk  little,  but  my  complaint  is  old  age. 
The  "  Saturday  Eeview  "  has  told  me  that  you  have 
poured  some  valuable  thoughts  into  the  river  that  flows 
through  ages,  — 

"  Re  degli  altri  ;  superbo,  altero  fiume!  " 

Solomon  tried  to  couch  its  cataracts  in  vain.  If  you 
lived  at  Athens  you  would  hardly  believe  that  man  can 
grow  wiser  by  being  made  to  think.  It  only  makes  him 
more  wicked  here  in  Greece.  But  the  river  of  thought 
must  be  intended  to  fertilize  the  future. 

I  wish  I  could  send  you  some  news  that  would  in- 
terest or  amuse  you,  but  you  may  recollect  that  I  live 
like  a  hermit  and  come  into  contact  with  society  chiefly 
in  the  matter  of  politics  which  I  cannot  expect  to  ren- 
der interesting  to  you  and  which  is  anything  but  an 
amusing  subject  to  me  ;  I  being  one  of  the  Greek  land- 
lords on  whose  head  Kings  and  National  Assemblies 
practise  the  art  of  shaving.  Our  revolution  has  done 
some  good  by  clearing  away  old  abuses,  but  the  positive 
gain  has  been  small.  England  sent  us  a  boy-king,  and 
Denmark  with  him  a  Count  Sponneck,  whom  the 
Greeks,  not  inaccurately,  call  his  "  alter  nemo."  Still, 
though  we  are  all  very  much  dissatisfied,  I  fancy  some- 
times that  fate  has  served  Greece  better  than  England, 
Denmark,  or  the  National  Assembly.  The  evils  of  this 
country  were  augmented  by  the  devotion  of  the  people 
to  power  and  pelf,  but  devotion  to  nullity  or  its  alter  ego 
is  a  weak  sentiment,  and  an  empty  treasury  turns  the 
devotion  to  pelf  into  useful  channels. 

"  I  was  rather   amused  yesterday  by  learning  that 


LONG  JOURNEY.  239 

loyalty  to  King  George  has  extended  the  commercial 
relations  of  the  Greeks  with  the  Turks.  Greece  has 
imported  some  boatloads  of  myrtle  branches  to  make 
triumphal  arches  at  Syra  where  the  King  was  expected 
yesterday.  Queen  Amalia  disciplined  King  Otho's  sub- 
jects to  welcome  him  in  this  way.  The  idea  of  Greeks 
being  "  green  "  in  anything,  though  it  was  only  loyalty, 
amused  her  in  those  days.  I  suppose  she  knows  now 
that  they  were  not  so  "  green  "  as  their  myrtles  made 
them  look  !  It  is  odd,  however,  to  find  that  their  out- 
rageous loyalty  succeeded  in  exterminating  myrtle 
plants  in  the  islands  of  the  iEgean,  and  that  they 
must  now  import  their  emblems  of  loyalty  from  the 
Sultan's  dominions.  If  a  new  Venus  rise  out  of  the 
Grecian  sea  she  will  have  to  swim  over  to  the  Turkish 
coast  to  hide  herself  in  myrtles.  There  is  a  new  fact 
for  Lord  Strangford's  oriental  Chaos  ! 

My  wife  desires  to  be  most  kindly  remembered  to 
you. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Miss  Cobbe, 

Yours  sincerely, 
George  Fistlay. 

I  left  Athens  and  my  kind  friends  with  great  regret 
and  embarked  at  the  Piraeus  for  Constantinople,  but  not 
before  I  had  managed  to  secure  a  luxurious  swim  in  one 
of  the  exquisite  rocky  coves  along  the  coast  near  the 
Tomb  of  Themistocles. 

Stamboul  was  rather  a  disappointment  to  me.  The 
weather  was  cold  and  cloudy  and  unfit  to  display  the 
beauty  of  the  Golden  Horn ;  and  I  went  about  with  a 
valet  de  place  in  rather  a  disheartened  way  to  see  the 
Dolma  Batchi  Palace  and  a  few  other  things  accessible 
to  me.  The  Scutari  Hospital  across  the  Bosphorus 
where  Miss  Nightingale  had  worked  only  four  years 
before,  of  course  greatly  attracted  my  interest.  How 
much  do  all  women  owe  to  that  brave  heart  who  led 


240  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

them  on  so  far  on  the  road  to  their  public  duties,  and 
who  has  paid  for  her  marvellous  achievements  by  just 
forty  years  of  invalidism !  Those  pages  of  Kinglake's 
History  in  which  he  pays  tribute  to  her  power,  and 
compares  her  great  administrative  triumph  in  bringing 
order  out  of  chaos  with  the  miserable  failures  of  the 
male  officials  who  had  brought  about  the  disastrous 
muddle,  ought  to  be  cpioted  again  and  again  by  all  the 
friends  of  women,  and  never  suffered  to  drop  into  ob- 
livion. 

Of  course  the  reader  will  assume  that  I  saw  St.  So- 
phia. But  I  did  not  do  so,  and  to  the  last  I  fear  I  shall 
owe  a  little  grudge  to  the  people  whose  extraordinary 
behavior  made  me  lose  my  sole  opportunity  of  enjoying 
that  most  interesting  sight.  I  told  my  valet  de  place  to 
learn  what  parties  of  foreigners  were  going  to  obtain 
"the  needful  firmaun  for  visiting  the  Mosque  and  to  ar- 
range for  me  in  the  usual  way  to  join  one  of  them,  pay- 
ing my  share  of  the  expense,  which  at  that  time 
amounted  to  £5.  Some  days  were  lost,  and  then  I 
learned  that  there  was  only  one  party,  consisting  of 
American  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who  were  then  intending 
to  visit  the  place,  and  that  for  some  reason  their  cour- 
ier would  not  consent  to  my  joining  them.  I  thought  it 
was  some  stupid  imbroglio  of  servants  wanting  fees,  and 
having  the  utmost  confidence  in  American  kindness  and 
good  manners,  I  called  on  the  family  in  question  at 
their  hotel  and  begged  they  would  do  me  the  favor  to 
allow  me  to  pay  part  of  the  £5,  and  to  enter  the  doors 
of  St.  Sophia  with  them  accordingly,  at  such  time  as 
might  suit  them.  To  my  amazement  the  gentleman  and 
ladies  looked  at  each  other ;  and  then  the  gentleman 
spoke,  "  Oh  !  I  leave  all  that  to  my  courier  !  "  "  In  that 
case,"  I  said,  "  I  wish  you  good  morning."  It  was  a 
great  bore  for  me,  with  my  great  love  for  architec- 
ture, to  fail  to  see  so  unique  a  building,  but  I  could  not 
think   of   spending   £5   on  a  firmaun  for   myself,  and 


LONG  JOURNEY.  241 

had  no  choice  but  to  relinquish  the  hope  of  entering,  and 
merely  walk  round  the  Mosque  and  peep  in  where  it  was 
possible  to  do  so.  I  was  well  cursed  in  doing  this  by 
the  old  Turks  for  my  presumption  ! 

Nemesis  overtook  these  unmannerly  people  ere  long, 
for  they  reached  Florence  a  month  after  me  and  found 
I  had  naturally  told  my  tale  of  disappointment  to  the 
Brownings  (whom  they  particularly  desired  to  culti- 
vate), the  Somervilles,  Trollopes,  and  others  who  had 
become  my  friends ;  and  I  believe  they  heard  a  good 
deal  of  the  matter.  Mrs.  Browning,  I  know,  frankly 
expressed  her  astonishment  at  their  behavior ;  and 
Mrs.  Somerville  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  them. 
They  sent  me  several  messages  of  conciliation  and 
apology,  which  of  course  I  ignored.  They  had  done  a 
rude  and  unkind  thing  to  an  unknown  and  friendless 
woman.  They  were  ready  to  make  advances  to  one 
who  had  plenty  of  friends.  It  was  the  only  case,  in  all 
my  experience  of  Americans,  in  which  I  have  found 
them  wanting  in  either  courtesy  or  kindness. 

I  had  intended  to  go  from  Constantinople  via  the 
Black  Sea  and  the  Danube  to  Vienna  and  thence  by  the 
railway  to  Adelsberg  and  Trieste,  but  a  cold,  stormy 
March  morning  rendered  that  excursion  far  less  tempt- 
ing than  a  return  to  the  sunny  waters  of  Greece  ;  and, 
as  I  had  nobody  to  consult,  I  simply  embarked  on  a 
different  steamer  from  the  one  I  had  designed  to  take. 
At  Syra  (I  think)  I  changed  to  the  most  luxurious  and 
delightful  vessel  on  which  I  have  ever  sailed  —  the 
Austrian  Lloyd's  Neptune,  Captain  Braun.  It  was 
splendidly  equipped,  even  to  a  camera  oscura  on  deck ; 
and  every  arrangement  for  luxurious  baths  and  good 
food  was  perfect,  and  the  old  Captain's  attention  and 
kindness  to  every  one  extreme.  I  have  still  the  picture 
of  the  Neptune,  which  he  drew  in  my  little  sketch  book 
for  me.  There  were  several  very  pleasant  passengers 
on    board,   among    others   the    Marquis    of    Headfort 


242  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

(nephew  of  our  old  neighbor  at  Newbridge,  Mr.  Tay- 
lor of  Ardgillan)  and  Lady  Headfort,  who  had  gone 
through  awful  experiences  in  India,  when  married  to 
her  first  husband,  Sir  William  Macnaghten.  It  was 
said  that  when  Sir  William  was  cut  to  pieces,  she 
offered  large  rewards  for  the  poor  relics  and  received 
them  all,  except  his  head.  Months  afterwards  when  she 
returned  to  Calcutta  and  was  expecting  some  ordinary 
box  of  clothes,  or  the  like,  she  opened  a  parcel  hastily, 
and  was  suddenly  confronted  with  the  frightful  spec- 
tacle of  her  husband's  half-preserved  head  ! 

Whether  this  story  be  true  I  cannot  say,  but  Lady 
Headfort  made  herself  a  most  agreeable  fellow-pas- 
senger, and  we  sat  up  every  night  till  the  small  hours 
telling  ghost  stories.  At  Corfu  I  paid  a  visit  to  my 
father's  cousin,  Lady  Emily  Kozzaris  (nee  Trench)  whom 
I  had  known  at  Newbridge  and  who  welcomed  me  as  a 
bit  of  Ireland,  fallen  on  her  — 

"  Isle  under  Ionian  skies 

Beautiful  as  a  wreck  of  paradise." 

I  seemed  to  be  en  pays  de  connaissance  once  more. 
After  two  days  in  Trieste  I  went  up  by  rail  to  Adelsberg 
through  the  extraordinary  district  (geologically  speak- 
ing) of  Carniola,  where  the  whole  superficial  area  of  the 
ground  is  perfectly  barren,  but  honey-combed  with  cir- 
cular holes  of  varying  depths  and  size  and  of  the  shape 
of  inverted  truncated  cones  ;  the  bottoms  of  each  being 
highly  fertile  and  cultivated  like  gardens. 

The  Cavern  of  Adelsberg  was  to  me  one  of  the  most 
fearsome  places  in  the  world.  I  cannot  give  any  accu- 
rate description  of  it, -for  the  sense  of  awe  which  always 
seizes  me  in  the  darkness  and  foul  air  of  caverns  and 
tunnels  and  pyramids  renders  me  incapable  of  listening 
to  details  of  heights  and  lengths.  I  wrote  my  recollec- 
tions not  long  afterwards. 

"  There  were  long,  long  galleries,  and  chambers,  and 
domes  succeeding  one  another,  as  it  seemed,  for  ever. 


LONG  JOURNEY.  243 

Sometimes  narrow  and  low,  compelling  the  visitor  to 
bend  and  climb;  sometimes  so  wide  and  lofty  that  the 
eye  vainly  sought  to  pierce  the  expanse.  And  through 
all  the  endless  labyrinth  appeared  vaguely  in  the  gloom 
the  forms  taken  by  the  stalactites,  now  white  as  salt, 
now  yellow  and  stained  as  if  with  age,  —  representing  to 
the  fancy  all  conceivable  objects  of  earth  and  sea,  piled 
up  in  this  cave  as  if  in  some  vast  lumberhouse  of  crea- 
tion. It  was  Chaos,  when  yet  all  things  slept  in  darkness 
waiting  the  fiat  of  existence.  It  was  the  final  Ruin 
when  all  things  shall  return  to  everlasting  night,  and 
man  and  all  his  works  grow  into  stone  and  lie  buried 
beside  the  mammoth  and  the  ichthyosaur.  Here  were 
temples  and  tombs,  and  vast  dim  faces,  and  giant  forms 
lying  prone  and  headless,  and  huge  lions  sleeping  in 
dark  dens,  and  white  ghosts  with  phantom  raiment 
flickering  in  the  gloom.  And  through  the  caverns, 
amid  all  the  forms  of  awe  and  wonder,  rolled  a  river 
black  as  midnight :  a  deep  and  rapid  river  which  broke 
here  and  there  over  the  rocks  as  in  mockery  of  the 
sunny  waterfalls  of  the  woods,  and  gleamed  for  a 
moment,  white  and  ghastly,  then  plunged  lower  under 
the  black  arch  into  — 

'Caverns  measureless  to  man 
Down  to  a  sunless  sea.' 

"It  is  in  this  deadly  river,  which  never  reflects 
the  light  of  day,  that  live  those  strange  fleshy  lizards 
without  eyes,  and  seemingly  without  natural  skin, 
hideous  reptiles  which  have  dwelt  in  darkness  from 
unknown  ages,  till  the  organs  of  sight  are  effaced.1 

"Over  this  dismal  Styx  the  traveller  passes  on 
further  and  further  into  the  cavern,  through  seemingly 
endless  corridors  and  vast  cathedral  aisles  and  halls 
without  number.  One  of  these  large  spaces  is  so 
enormous  that  it  seemed  as  if  St.  Peter's  whole  church 
and  dome  could  lie  beneath  it.     The  men  who  were  with 

1  The  Proteus  Anguinus. 


244  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

us  scaled  the  walls,  threw  colored  lights  around  and 
rockets  up  to  the  roof,  and  dimly  revealed  the  stupen- 
dous expanse  :  an  underground  hall,  where  Eblis  and  all 
his  peers  might  hold  the  councils  of  hell.  Further  on 
yet,  through  more  corridors,  more  chambers  and  aisles 
and  domes,  with  the  couchant  lions  and  the  altar-tombs 
and  the  ghosts  and  the  great  white  faces  all  around ; 
and  then  into  a  cavern,  more  lately  found  than  the  rest, 
where  the  white  and  yellow  marble  took  forms  of 
screens  and  organ  pipes  and  richest  Gothic  tracery  of 
windows,  —  the  region  where  the  Genius  of  the  Cavern 
had  made  his  royal  Oratory.  It  was  all  a  great,  dim, 
uneasy  dream.  Things  were,  and  were  not.  As  in 
dreams  we  picture  places  and  identify  them  with  those 
of  waking  life  in  some  strange  unreal  identity,  while  in 
every  particular  they  vary  from  the  actual  place  ;  and 
as  also  in  dreams  we  think  we  have  beheld  the  same 
objects  over  and  over  again,  while  we  only  dream  we  see 
them,  and  go  on  wandering  further  and  further,  seeking 
for  some  unknown  thing,  and  finding,  not  that  which 
we  seek,  but  every  other  thing  in  existence,  and  pass 
through  all  manner  of  narrow  doors  and  impenetrable 
screens,  and  men  speak  to  us  and  we  cannot  hear  them, 
and  show  us  open  graves  holding  dead  corpses  whose 
features  we  cannot  discern,  and  all  the  world  is  dim  and 
dark  and  full  of  doubt  and  dread  —  even  so  is  the 
Cavern  of  Adelsberg." 

Eeturning  to  Trieste  I  passed  on  to  Venice,  the 
beauty  of  which  I  learned  (rather  slowly  perhaps)  to 
feel  by  degrees  as  I  rowed  in  my  gondola  from  church 
to  church  and  from  gallery  to  palace.  The  Austrians 
were  then  masters  of  the  city,  and  it  was  no  doubt 
German  music  which  I  heard  for  the  first  time  at  the 
church  of  the  Scalzi,  very  finely  performed.  It  was  not 
solemn  in  the  usual  English  style  of  sacred  music ;  (I 
dare  say  it  was  not  strictly  sacred  music  at  all,  perhaps 
cpiite  a  profane  opera !)  but,  in  the  mood  I  was  in,  it 


LONG  JOURNEY.  245 

seemed  to  me  to  have  a  great  sanctity  of  its  own  ;  to  be 
a  "  Week-day  Song  of  Heaven."  This  was  one  of  the 
rare  occasions  in  my  life  in  which  music  has  reached 
the  deeper  springs  in  me,  and  it  affected  me  very  much, 
I  suppose,  as  the  daffodils  did  Wordsworth. 

Naturally  being  again  in  a  town  and  at  a  good  hotel,  I 
resumed  better  clothes  than  I  had  worn  in  my  rough 
rides,  and  they  were,  of  course,  that  year  deep  mourn- 
ing with  much  crape  on  them.  I  imagine  it  must  have 
been  this  English  mourning  apparel  Avhich  provoked 
among  the  color-loving  Venetians  a  strange  display  of 
Heteropathy, — that  deep-seated  animal  instinct  of 
hatred  and  anger  against  grief  and  suffering,  the  exact 
reverse  of  sympathy,  which  causes  brutes  and  birds  to 
gore  and  peck  and  slay  their  diseased  and  dying  com- 
panions, and  brutal  men  to  trample  on  their  weeping, 
starving  wives.  I  was  walking  alone  rather  sadly, 
bent  down  over  the  shells  on  the  beach  of  the  Lido, 
comparing  them  in  my  mind  to  the  old  venuses  and 
pectens  and  beautiful  pholases  which  I  used  to  collect 
on  my  father's  long  stretch  of  sandy  shore  in  Ireland, 
—  when  suddenly  I  found  myself  assailed  with  a 
shower  of  stones.  Looking  up,  I  saw  a  little  crowd  of 
women  and  boys  jeering  at  me  and  pelting  me  with 
whatever  they  could  pick  up.  Of  course  they  could  not 
really  hurt  me,  but  after  an  effort  or  two  at  remon- 
strance, I  was  fain  to  give  up  my  walk  and  return  to 
my  gondola  and  to  Venice.  Years  afterwards,  speak- 
ing of  this  incident  to  Gibson,  he  told  me  he  had  seen 
at  Venice  a  much  worse  scene,  for  the  victim  was  a 
poor  helpless  dog  which  had  somehow  got  into  a 
position  from  whence  it  could  not  escape,  and  the 
miserable,  hooting,  laughing  crowd  deliberately  stoned 
it  to  death.  The  dog  looked  from  one  to  another  of  its 
persecutors  as  if  appealing  for  mercy  and  saying, 
"  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  ?  "  But  there  was 
no  mercy  in  those  hard  hearts. 


246  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Ever  since  I  sat  on  the  spot  where  St.  Stephen  was 
stoned,  I  have  felt  that  that  particular  form  of  death 
must  have  been  one  of  the  most  morally  trying  and 
dreadful  to  the  sufferer,  and  the  most  utterly  destruc- 
tive of  the  finer  instincts  in  those  who  inflicted  it.  If 
Jews  be,  as  alleged,  more  prone  to  cruelty  than  other 
nations,  the  fact  seems  to  me  almost  explained  by  the 
"  set  of  the  brains  "  of  a  race  accustomed  to  account  it 
a  duty  to  join  in  stoning  an  offender  to  death  and 
watching  pitilessly  his  agonies  when  mangled,  blinded, 
deafened,  and  bleeding  he  lies  crushed  on  the  ground. 

From  Venice  I  travelled  very  pleasantly  in  a  return- 
ing vettura  which  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  engage, 
by  Padua  and  Ferrara  over  the  Apennines  to  Florence. 
One  day  I  walked  a  long  way  in  front  during  my 
vetturino's  dinner-hour,  and  made  friends  with  some 
poor  peasants  who  welcomed  me  to  their  house  and  to  a 
share  of  their  meal  of  Polenta  and  wine.  The  Polenta 
was  much  inferior  to  Irish  oatmeal  stirabout  or  Scotch 
porridge ;  and  the  black  wine  was  like  the  coarsest 
vinegar.  I  tried  in  vain,  out  of  good  manners,  to  drink 
it.  The  lives  of  these  poor  contadlni  are  obviously  in 
all  ways  cruelly  hard. 

Spending  one  night  in  a  desolate  "  ramshackle  "  inn 
on  the  road  high  up  on  the  Apennines,  I  sat  up  late 
writing  a  description  of  the  place  (as  "creepy"  as 
I  could  make  it !)  to  amuse  my  mother's  dear  old  ser- 
vant "  Joney,"  who  possessed  a  volume  of  Washington 
Irving's  stories  wherein  that  of  the  "  Inn  at  Terracina  " 
had  served  constantly  to  excite  delightful  awe  in  her 
breast  and  in  my  own  as  a  child.  I  took  my  letter 
next  day  with  me  to  post  in  Florence,  but  alas  !  found 
there  waiting  for  me  one  from  my  brother  announcing 
that  our  dear  old  servant  was  dead.  She  had  never 
held  up  her  head  after  I  had  left  Newbridge,  and  had 
ceased  to  drop  into  her  cottage  for  tea. 

At  Florence  I  remained  many  months  (or  rather  on 


LONG  JOURNEY.  247 

the  hill  of  Bellosguardo  above  the  city)  and  made  some 
of  the  most  precious  friendships  of  my  life ;  Mrs. 
Somerville's  first  of  all.  I  also  had  the  privilege  to 
know  at  that  time  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Browning, 
Adolphus  Trollope,  Walter  Savage  Landor,  Isa  Blag- 
den,  Miss  White  (now  Madame  Villari),  and  many 
other  very  interesting  men  and  women.  I  shall,  how- 
ever, write  a  separate  chapter  combining  this  and  my 
subsequent  visits  to  Italy. 

Late  in  the  summer  I  travelled  with  a  party  through 
Milan  over  St.  Gothard  to  Lucerne,  and  thence  to  the 
Pays  de  Vaud,  where  I  joined  a  very  pleasant  couple 
—  Rev.  W.  and  Mrs.  Biedermann  —  in  taking  the 
Chateau  du  Grand  Clos,  in  the  Valley  of  the  Rhone  :  a 
curious  miniature  French  country-house,  built  some 
years  before  by  the  man  who  called  himself  Louis 
XVIL,  or  Due  de  Normandie ;  and  who  had  collected 
(as  we  found)  a  considerable  library  of  books,  all  relat- 
ing to  the  French  Revolution. 

From  Switzerland  I  travelled  back  to  England  via 
the  Rhine  with  my  dear  American  friends,  the 
Apthorps,  who  had  joined  me  at  Montreux.  The  perils 
and  fatigues  of  my  eleven  months  of  solitary  wander- 
ings were  over.  I  was  stronger  and  more  active  in 
body  than  I  had  ever  been,  and  so  enriched  in  mind 
and  heart  by  the  things  I  had  seen  and  the  people  I 
had  known  that  I  could  afford  to  smile  at  the  depres- 
sion and  loneliness  of  my  departure. 

As  we  approached  the  Black  Forest  I  had  a  fancy  to 
quit  my  kind  companions  for  a  few  days ;  and,  baving 
them  to  explore  Strasburg  and  some  other  places,  I 
went  on  to  Heidelberg  and  thence  made  my  way  into 
the  beautiful  woods.  The  following  lines  were  written 
there,  September  23d,  1858  :  — 


248  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 


ALONE  IN  THE   SCHWARZWALD. 

Lord  of  the  Forest  Sanctuary  !     Thou 
By  the  grey  fathers  of  the  world  in  these 
Thine  own  self-fashioned  shrines  dimly  adored, 
"  All-Father  Odin,"  "  Mover  "  of  the  spheres  ; 
Zeus!     Brahm!     Ormusd!     Lord  of  Light  Divine! 
God,  blessed  God !  the  Good  One !     Best  of  names, 
By  noblest  Saxon  race  found  Thee  at  last,  — 
O  Father !    when  the  slow  revolving  years 
Bring  forth  the  day  when  men  shall  see  Thy  face 
Unveiled  from  superstition's  web  of  errors  old, 
Shall  they  not  seek  Thee  here  amid  the  woods, 
Rather  than  in  the  pillared  aisle,  or  dome 
By  loftiest  genius  reared  ? 

Six  months  have  rolled 
Since  I  stood  solitary  in  the  fane 
Of  desolate  Baalbec.     The  huge  walls  closed 
Round  me  sublime  as  when  millenniums  past 
Lost  nations  worshipped  there.     I  sate  beside 
The  altar  stone  o'erthrown.     For  hours  I  sate 
Until  the  homeward-winging  hawk  at  even 
Shrieked  when  he  saw  me  there,  a  human  form 
Where  human  feet  tread  once  perchance  a  year. 
Then  the  moon  slowly  rose  above  the  walls 
And  then  I  knelt.     It  was  a  glorious  fane, 
All,  all  my  own. 

But  not  that  grand  Baalbec, 
Nor  Parthenon,  nor  Rome's  stupendous  pile, 
Nor  lovelier  Milan,  nor  the  Sepulchre 
So  dark  and  solemn  where  the  Christ  was  laid, 
Nor  even  yet  that  dreadful  field  of  death 
At  Ghizeh  where  the  eternal  Pyramids 
Have,  from  a  world  of  graves,  pointed  to  Heav'n 
For  fifty  ages  past,  —  not  all  these  shrines 
Are  holy  to  my  soul  as  are  the  woods. 
Lo  !  how  God  himself  has  planned  this  place 
So  that  all  sweet  and  calm  and  solemn  thoughts 
Should  have  their  nests  amid  the  shadowy  trees  ! 
How  the  rude  work-day  world  is  all  closed  out 
By  the  thick  curtained  foliage,  and  the  sky 
Alone  revealed,  a  deep  zenith  heaven, 
Fitly  beheld  through  clasped  and  upraised  arms 
Of  prayer-like  trees.     There  is  no  sound  more  loud 
Than  the  low  insect  hum,  the  chirp  of  birds, 
The  rustling  murmur  of  embracing  boughs, 
The  gentle  dropping  of  the  autumu  leaves. 


LONG  JOURNEY.  249 

The  wood's  sweet  breath  is  incense.    From  the  pines 
And  larch  and  chestnut  come  rich  odors  pure; 
All  things  are  pure  and  sweet  and  holy  here. 

I  lie  down  underneath  the  firs.     The  moss 
Makes  richest  cushion  for  my  weary  limbs  ; 
Long  I  gaze  upward  while  the  dark  green  boughs 
Moveless  project  against  the  azure  sky, 
Fringed  with  their  russet  cones.     ~My  satiate  eyes 
Sink  down  at  length.     I  turn  my  cheek  to  earth. 
What  may  this  be,  this  sense  of  youth  restored, 
My  happy  childhood  with  its  sunbright  hours, 
Returning  once  again  as  in  a  dream  V 
'T  is  but  the  odor  of  the  mossy  ground, 
The  "field-smells  known  in  infancy,"  when  yet 
Our  childish  sports  were  near  to  mother  Earth, 
Our  child-like  hearts  near  to  the  God  in  Heaven. 


CHAPTER  X. 

REFORMATORIES    AND    RAGGED    SCHOOLS    AT    BRISTOL. 

After  I  had  spent  two  or  three  weeks  once  again  at 
my  old  home  after  my  long  journey,  to  visit  my  eldest 
brother  and  his  wife,  and  also  had  seen  my  two  other 
dear  brothers,  then  married  and  settled  in  England  with 
their  children ;  the  time  came  for  me  to  begin  my  inde- 
pendent life  as  I  had  long  planned  it.  I  had  taken  my 
year's  pilgrimage  as  a  sort  of  conclusion  to  my  self-ed- 
ucation, and  also  because,  at  the  beginning  of  it,  I  was 
in  no  state  of  health  or  spirits  to  throw  myself  into  new 
work  of  any  kind.  Now  I  was  well  and  strong,  and 
full  of  hope  of  being  of  some  little  use  in  the  world.  I 
was  at  a  very  good  age  for  making  a  fresh  start,  just 
thirty-six;  and  I  had  my  little  independence  of  £200 
a  year  which,  though  small,  was  to  allow  me  to  work 
how  and  where  I  pleased  without  need  to  earn  any- 
thing. I  may  boast  that  I  never  got  into  debt  in  my 
life  ;  never  borrowed  money  from  anybody  ;  never  even 
asked  my  brother  for  the  advance  of  a  week  on  the 
interest  on  my  patrimony. 

It  had  been  somewhat  of  a  difficulty  to  me  after  my 
home  duties  ended  at  my  father's  death,  to  decide 
where,  with  my  heretical  opinions,  I  could  find  a  field 
for  any  kind  of  usefulness  to  my  fellow  creatures,  but  I 
fortunately  heard  through  Harriet  St.  Leger  and  Lady 
Byron,  that  Miss  Carpenter,  of  Bristol,  was  seeking 
for  some  lady  to  help  in  her  Reformatory  and  Ragged 
School  work.  Miss  Bathurst,  who  had  joined  her  for 
the  purpose,  had  died  the  previous  year.     The  arrange- 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      251 

ment  was  that  we  paid  Miss  Carpenter  a  moderate  sum 
(30s.)  a  week  for  board  and  lodging  in  her  house  adjoin- 
ing Red  Lodge,  and  she  provided  us  all  day  long  with 
abundant  occupation.  I  had  by  mere  chance  read  her 
"  Juvenile  Delinquents,"  and  had  admired  the  spirit  of 
the  book ;  but  my  special  attraction  to  Miss  Carpenter 
was  the  belief  that  I  should  find  in  her  at  once  a  very 
religious  woman,  and  one  so  completely  outside  the  pale 
of  orthodoxy  that  I  should  be  sure  to  meet  from  her  the 
sympathy  I  had  never  been  yet  privileged  to  enjoy ;  and 
at  all  events  be  able  to  assist  her  labors  with  freedom  of 
conscience. 

My  first  interview  with  Miss  Carpenter  (in  Novem- 
ber, 1858)  was  in  the  doorway  of  my  bedroom  after  my 
arrival  at  Red  Lodge  House  ;  a  small  house  in  the  same 
street  as  Red  Lodge.  She  had  been  absent  from  home 
on  business,  and  hastened  upstairs  to  welcome  me.  It 
was  rather  a  critical  moment,  for  I  had  been  asking  my- 
self anxiously,  "What  manner  of  woman  shall  I  be- 
hold ?  "  I  knew  I  should  see  an  able  and  an  excellent 
person ;  but  it  is  quite  possible  for  able  and  excellent 
women  to  be  far  from  agreeable  companions  for  a  tete- 
a-tete  of  years  ;  and  nothing  short  of  this  had  I  in  con- 
templation. The  first  glimpse  in  that  doorway  set  my 
fears  at  rest !  The  plain  and  careworn  face,  the  figure 
which  Dr.  Martineau  says,  had  been  "  columnar "  in 
youth,  but  which  at  fifty-two  was  angular  and  stooping, 
were  yet  all  alive  with  feeling  and  power.  Her  large, 
light  blue  eyes,  with  their  peculiar  trick  of  showing 
the  white  beneath  the  iris,  had  an  extraordinary  faculty 
of  taking  possession  of  the  person  on  whom  they  were 
fixed,  like  those  of  an  amiable  Ancient  Mariner  who 
only  wanted  to  talk  philanthropy,  and  not  to  tell  stories 
of  weird  voyages  and  murdered  albatrosses.  There  was 
humor  also,  in  every  line  of  her  face,  and  a  readiness 
to  catch  the  first  gleam  of  a  joke.  But  the  prevailing 
characteristic   of   Mary   Carpenter,   as   I   came   subse- 


252  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

quently  more  perfectly  to  recognize,  was  a  high  and 
strong  Resolution,  which  made  her  whole  path  much 
like  that  of  a  plough  in  a  well-drawn  furrow,  which 
goes  straight  on  its  own  beneficent  way,  and  gently 
pushes  aside  into  little  ridges  all  intervening  people 
and  things. 

Long  after  this  first  interview,  Miss  Elliot  showed 
Miss  Carpenter's  photograph  to  the  Master  of  Balliol, 
without  telling  him  whom  it  represented.  After  look- 
ing at  it  carefully,  he  remarked,  "  This  is  the  portrait 
of  a  person  who  lives  under  high  moral  excitement." 
There  could  not  be  a  truer  summary  of  her  habitual 
state. 

Our  days  were  very  much  alike,  and  "  Sunday  shone 
no  Sabbath-day "  for  us.  Our  little  household  con- 
sisted of  one  honest  girl  (a  certain  excellent  Marianne, 
whom  I  often  see  now  in  her  respectable  widowhood  and 
who  well  deserves  commemoration)  and  two  little  con- 
victed thieves  from  the  Red  Lodge.  We  assembled  for 
prayers  very  early  in  the  morning ;  and  breakfast,  dur- 
ing the  winter  months,  was  got  over  before  daylight ; 
Miss  Carpenter  always  remarking  brightly  as  she  sat 
down,  "  How  cheerful !  "  was  the  gas.  After  this  there 
were  classes  at  the  different  schools,  endless  arrange- 
ments and  organizations,  the  looking-up  of  little  truants 
from  the  Ragged  Schools,  and  a  good  deal  of  business 
in  the  way  of  writing  reports  and  so  on.  Altogether, 
nearly  every  hour  of  the  day  and  week  was  pretty  well 
mapped  out,  leaving  only  space  for  the  brief  dinner  and 
tea ;  and  at  nine  or  ten  o'clock  at  night,  when  we  met 
at  last,  Miss  Carpenter  was  often  so  exhausted  that  I 
have  seen  her  fall  asleep  with  the  spoon  half-way  be- 
tween her  mouth  and  the  cup  of  gruel  which  she  ate 
for  supper.  Her  habits  were  all  of  the  simplest  and 
most  self-denying  kind.  Both  by  temperament  and  on 
principle  she  was  essentially  a  Stoic.  She  had  no  sym- 
pathy at  all  with  Asceticism  (which  is  a  very  different 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      253 

thing,  and  implies  a  vivid  sense  of  the  attractiveness  of 
luxury),  and  she  strongly  condemned  fasting,  and  all 
such  practices,  on  the  Zoroastrian  principle  that  they 
involve  a  culpable  weakening  of  powers  which  are  in- 
trusted to  us  for  good  use.     But  she  was  an  ingrained 
Stoic,  to  whom  all  the  minor  comforts  of  life  are  sim- 
ply indifferent,  and  who  can  scarcely  even  recognize  the 
fact  that  other  people  take  heed  of  them.     She  once, 
with  great  simplicity,  made  to  me  the  grave  observa- 
tion that  at  a  country  house  where  she  had  just  passed 
two  or  three  days,  "  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  all  came 
down   dressed   for   dinner,  and  evidently  thought   the 
meal  rather  a  pleasant  part  of  the  day  !  "     For  herself 
(as   I  often   told   her)  she  had  no  idea  of  any  Feast 
except  that  of  the  Passover,  and  always  ate  with  her 
loins  girded  and  her  umbrella  at  hand,  ready  to  rush  off 
to  the  Eed   Lodge,  if  not   to  the  Eed  Sea.     In  vain  I 
remonstrated  on  the  unwholesomeness  of  the  practice, 
and  entreated  on  my  own  behalf  to  be  allowed  time 
to   swallow   my   food,    and    also   some    food    (in  the 
shape  of  vegetables)   to  swallow,  as  well  as  the  per- 
petual, too  easily  ordered,  salt  beef  and  ham.     Next 
day  after  an  appeal  of  this  kind  (made  serious  on  my 
part  by  threats  of  gout),  good  Miss  Carpenter  greeted 
me  with  a  complacent  smile  on  my  entry  into  our  little 
dining-room.       "You   see   I   have  not   forgotten   your 
wish  for  a  dish  of  vegetables  ! "     There,  surely  enough, 
on  a  cheeseplate,  stood  six  little  round  radishes  !     Her 
special  chair  was  a  horsehair  one  with  wooden  arms, 
and  on  the  seat  she  had  placed  a  small  square  cushion, 
as  hard  as  a  board,  likewise  covered  with  horsehair.     I 
took  this  up  one  day,  and  taunted  her  with  the  Sybarit- 
ism it  betrayed;  but  she  replied,  with  infinite  simpli- 
city, "  Yes,  indeed !     I  am  sorry  to  say  that  since  my 
illness  I  have  been  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  these 
indulgences    (!).      I   used    to   try,   like    St.    Paul,   to 
'  endure  hardness.' " 


254  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

Her  standard  of  conscientious  rigor  was  even,  it 
would  appear,  applicable  to  animals.  I  never  saw  a 
more  ludicrous  little  scene  than  when  she  one  day 
found  my  poor  dog  Hajjin,  a  splendid  gray  Pomera- 
nian, lying  on  the  broad  of  her  very  broad  back,  luxuri- 
ating on  the  rug  before  a  good  fire.  After  gravely  in- 
specting her  for  some  moments,  Miss  Carpenter  turned 
solemnly  away,  observing  in  a  tone  of  deep  moral 
disapprobation,  "  Self-indulgent  clog  !  " 

Much  of  our  work  lay  in  a  certain  Eagged  School  in 
a  filthy  lane  named  St.  James'  Back,  now  happily  swept 
from  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  long  line  of  Lewin's 
Mead  beyond  the  chapel  was  bad  enough,  especially  at 
nine  or  ten  o'clock  of  a  winter's  night,  when  half  the 
gas  lamps  were  extinguished,  and  groups  of  drunken 
men  and  miserable  women  were  to  be  found  shouting, 
screaming  and  fighting  before  the  dens  of  drink  and  in- 
famy of  which  the  street  consisted.  Miss  Carpenter 
told  me  that  a  short  time  previously  some  Bow  Street 
constables  had  been  sent  down  to  this  place  to  ferret  out 
a  crime  which  had  been  committed  there,  and  that  they 
reported  there  was  not  in  all  London  such  a  nest  of 
wickedness  as  they  had  explored.  The  ordinary  Bristol 
policemen  were  never  to  be  seen  at  night  in  Lewin's 
Mead,  and  it  was  said  they  were  afraid  to  show  them- 
selves in  the  place.  But  St.  James'  Back  was  a  shade, 
I  think,  lower  than  Lewin's  Mead ;  at  all  events  it  was 
further  from  the  upper  air  of  decent  life  ;  and  in  these 
horrid  slums  that  dauntless  woman  had  bought  some 
tumble-down  old  buildings  and  turned  them  into  schools 
—  day-schools  for  girls  and  night-schools  for  boys,  all 
the  very  sweepings  of  those  wretched  streets. 

It  was  a  wonderful  spectacle  to  see  Mary  Carpenter 
sitting  patiently  before  the  large  school-gallery  in  this 
place,  teaching,  singing,  and  praying  with  the  wild 
street-boys,  in  spite  of  endless  interruptions  caused  by 
such  proceedings  as  shooting  marbles  into  hats  on  the 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      255 

table  behind  her,  whistling,  stamping,  fighting,  shriek- 
ing out  "  Amen  "  in  the  middle  of  the  prayer,  and  some- 
times rising  en  masse  and  tearing,  like  a  troop  of  bisons 
in  hob-nailed  shoes,  down  from  the  gallery,  round  the 
great  schoolroom  and  down  the  stairs,  out  into  the 
street.  These  irrepressible  outbreaks  she  bore  with 
infinite  good  humor  and,  what  seemed  to  me  more  mar- 
vellous still,  she  heeded,  apparently,  not  at  all  the  inde- 
scribable abomination  of  the  odors  of  a  tripe-and-trotter 
shop  next  door,  wherein  operations  were  frequently  car- 
ried on  which,  together  with  the  bouquet  du  jpeuple  of 
the  poor  little  unkempt  scholars,  rendered  the  school  of 
a  hot  summer's  evening  little  better  than  the  ill-smell- 
ing giro  of  Dante's  Inferno.  These  trifles,  however, 
scarcely  even  attracted  Mary  Carpenter's  attention,  fixed 
as  it  was  on  the  possibility  of  "  taking  hold "  (as  she 
used  to  say)  of  one  little  urchin  or  another,  on  whom 
for  the  moment  her  hopes  were  fixed. 

The  droll  things  which  daily  occurred  in  these  schools, 
and  the  wonderful  replies  received  from  the  scholars  to 
questions  testing  their  information,  amused  her  in- 
tensely and  the  more  unruly  were  the  young  scamps,  the 
more,  I  think,  in  her  secret  heart,  she  liked  them,  and 
gloried  in  taming  them.  She  used  to  say,  "  Only  to  get 
them  to  use  the  school  comb  is  something  !  "  There  was 
the  boy  who  defined  Conscience  to  me  as  "  a  thing  a 
gen'elman  has  n't  got,  who,  when  a  boy  finds  his  purse 
and  gives  it  back  to  him,  does  n't  give  the  boy  sixpence." 
There  was  the  boy  who,  sharing  in  my  Sunday  evening 
lecture  on  "Thankfulness,"  —  wherein  I  had  pointed 
out  the  grass  and  blossoming  trees  on  the  Downs  as 
subjects  for  praise,  —  was  interrogated  as  to  which 
pleasure  he  enjoyed  most  in  the  course  of  the  year,  re- 
plied candidly,  "  Cock-fightin',  ma'am.  There  's  a  pit 
up  by  the  '  Black  Boy '  as  is  worth  anythink  in 
Brissel ! " 

The  clergy  troubled  us  little.    One  day  an  impressive 


256  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

young  curate  entered  and  sat  silent,  sternly  critical  to 
note  what  heresies  were  being  instilled  into  the  minds 
of  his  flock.  "I  am  giving  a  lesson  on  Palestine,"  I 
said;  "I  have  just  been  at  Jerusalem."  "In  what 
sense  ? "  said  the  awful  young  man,  darkly  discerning 
some  mysticism  (of  the  Swedenborgian  kind,  perhaps) 
beneath  the  simple  statement.  The  boys  who  were  dis- 
missed from  the  school  for  obstreperous  behavior  were 
a  great  difficulty  to  us,  usually  employing  themselves  in 
shouting  and  hammering  at  the  door.  One  winter's 
night  when  it  was  raining  heavily,  as  I  was  passing 
through  Lewin's  Mead,  I  was  greeted  by  a  chorus  of 
voices,  "  Cob-web,  Cob-web ! "  emanating  from  the 
depths  of  a  black  archway.  Standing  still  under  my 
umbrella,  and  looking  down  the  cavern,  I  remarked, 
"  Don't  you  think  I  must  be  a  little  tougher  than  a  cob- 
web to  come  out  such  a  night  as  this  to  teach  such  little 
scamps  as  you  ?  " 

"Indeed  you  is,  mum;  that's  true!  And  stouter 
too ! " 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  you  would  be  more  comfort- 
able in  that  nice  warm  schoolroom  than  in  this  dark, 
cold  place  ?  " 

"  Yes  'm,  we  would." 

"  You  '11  have  to  promise  to  be  tremendously  good,  I 
can  tell  you,  if  I  bring  you  in  again.  Will  you 
promise  ?  " 

Vows  of  everlasting  order  and  obedience  were  ten- 
dered ;  and,  to  Miss  Carpenter's  intense  amusement,  I 
came  into  St.  James'  Back,  followed  by  a  whole  troop 
of  little  outlaws  reduced  to  temporary  subjection.  At 
all  events  they  never  shouted  "  Cob-web  "  again.  In- 
deed, at  all  times  the  events  of  the  day's  work,  if  they 
bordered  on  the  ludicrous  (as  was  often  the  case),  pro- 
voked her  laughter  till  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 
One  night  she  sat  grieving  over  a  piece  of  ingratitude 
on  the  part  of  one  of  her  teachers,  and  told  me  she  had 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      257 

given  hiui  some  invitation  for  the  purpose  of  conciliat- 
ing him  and  "  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  his  head."  "  It 
will  take  another  scuttle,  my  dear  friend,"  I  remarked ; 
and  thereupon  her  tears  stopped,  and  she  burst  into  a 
hearty  fit  of  laughter.  Next  evening  she  said  to  me 
dolorously,  "I  tried  that  other  scuttle,  but  it  was  no 
go !  " 

Of  course,  like  every  mortal,  Mary  Carpenter  had  les 
defauts  tie  ses  qualites.  Her  absorption  in  her  work 
always  blinded  her  to  the  fact  that  other  people  might 
possibly  be  bored  by  hearing  of  it  incessantly. 

In  India,  I  have  been  told  that  a  Governor  of  Madras 
observed,  after  her  visit,  "  It  is  very  astonishing ;  I 
listened  to  all  Miss  Carpenter  had  to  tell  me,  but  when 
I  began  to  tell  her  what  I  knew  of  this  country,  she 
dropped  asleep."  Indeed,  the  poor  wearied  and  over- 
worked brain,  when  it  had  made  its  effort,  generally  col- 
lapsed, and  in  two  or  three  minutes,  after  "  holding  you 
with  her  eye"  through  a  long  philanthropic  history, 
Miss  Carpenter  might  be  seen  to  be,  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  asleep. 

On  one  occasion,  that  most  lovable  old  man,  Samuel 
J.  May,  of  Syracuse,  came  to  pass  two  or  three  days  at 
Eecl  Lodge  House,  and  Miss  Carpenter  was  naturally 
delighted  to  take  him  about  and  show  him  her  schools 
and  explain  everything  to  him.  Mr.  May  listened  with 
great  interest  for  a  time,  but  at  last  his  attention  flagged 
and  two  or  three  times  he  turned  to  me :  "  When  can 
we  have  our  talk,  which  Theodore  Parker  promised 
me  ?  "  "  Oh,  by  and  by,"  Miss  Carpenter  always  inter- 
posed; till  one  day,  after  we  had  visited  St.  James' 
Back,  we  arrived  all  three  at  the  foot  of  the  tremendous 
stairs,  almost  like  those  of  the  Trinita,  which  then  ex- 
isted in  Bristol,  and  were  called  the  Christmas  Steps. 
"  Now,  Mr.  May  and  Miss  Cobbe,"  (said  Mary  Carpen- 
ter, cheerfully)  "  you  can  have  your  talk."  And  so  we 
had  —  till  we  got  to  the  top,  when  she  resumed  the 


258  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

guidance  of  the  conversation.  Good  jokes  were  often 
made  of  this  little  weakness,  but  it  had  its  pathetic  side. 
Never  was  there  a  word  of  real  egotism  in  her  eager 
talk,  or  the  evidence  of  the  slightest  wish  to  magnify 
her  own  doings,  or  to  impress  her  hearers  with  her  im- 
mense share  in  the  public  benefits  she  described.  It 
was  her  deep  conviction  that  to  turn  one  of  these  poor 
sinners  from  the  errors  of  its  ways,  to  reach  to  the  roots 
of  the  misery  and  corruption  of  the  "  perishing  and  dan- 
gerous classes,"  was  the  most  important  work  which 
could  possibly  be  undertaken ;  and  she,  very  naturally, 
in  consequence  made  it  the  most  prominent,  indeed, 
almost  the  sole,  subject  of  discourse.  I  was  once  in 
her  company  at  Aubrey  House  in  London,  when  there 
happened  to  be  present  half  a  dozen  people,  each  one 
devoted  to  some  special  political,  religious,  or  moral  agi- 
tation. Miss  Carpenter  remarked  in  a  pause  in  the  con- 
versation :  "  It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  everybody  will 
not  join  and  give  the  whole  of  their  minds  to  the  great 
cause  of  the  age,  because,  if  they  would,  we  should 
carry  it  undoubtedly."  "  What  is  the  great  cause  of  the 
age  ?  "  we  simultaneously  exclaimed.  "  Parliamentary 
Keform  ?  "  said  our  host,  Mr.  Peter  Taylor  ;  "  The  Abo- 
lition of  Slavery  ?  "  said  Miss  Kemond,  a  Negress,  Mrs. 
Taylor's  companion  ;  "  Teetotalism  ?  "  said  another ; 
"  Woman's  Suffrage  ?  "  said  another  ;  "  The  conversion 
of  the  world  to  Theism  ?  "  said  I.  In  the  midst  of  the 
clamor,  Miss  Carpenter  looked  serenely  round.  "  Why  ! 
the  Industrial  Schools  Bill,  of  course !  "  Nobody  en- 
joyed the  joke,  when  we  all  began  to  laugh,  more  than 
the  reformer  herself. 

It  was,  above  all,  in  the  Eed  Lodge  Reformatory  that 
Mary  Carpenter's  work  was  at  its  highest.  The  spirit- 
ual interest  she  took  in  the  poor  little  girls  was,  beyond 
words,  admirable.  When  one  of  them  whom  she  had 
hoped  was  really  reformed  fell  back  into  thievish  or 
other  evil  ways,  her  grief  was  a  real  vicarious  repent- 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      259 

anee  for  the  little  sinner ;  a  Christ-like  sentiment  infi- 
nitely sacred.  Nor  was  she  at  all  blind  to  the  chil- 
dren's defects,  or  easily  deceived  by  the  usual  sham 
reformations  of  such  institutions.  In  one  of  her  letters 
to  me  she  wrote  these  wise  words  (July  9th,  1859) :  — 

"  I  have  pointed  out  in  one  of  my  reports  why  I 
have  more  trouble  than  others  (e.  g.,  especially  Catho- 
lics). A  system  of  steady  repression  and  order  would 
make  them  sooner  good  scholars  ;  but  then  I  should 
not  have  the  least  confidence  in  the  real  change  of  their 
characters.  Even  with  my  free  system  in  the  Lodge, 
remember  how  little  we  knew  of  Hill's  and  Hawkins' 
real  characters,  until  they  were  in  the  house  ?  (Her 
own  private  house.)  I  do  not  object  to  nature  being 
kept  under  curbs  of  rule  and  order  for  a  time,  until 
some  principles  are  sufficiently  rooted  to  be  appealed  to. 
But  then  it  must  have  play,  or  we  cannot  possibly  tell 
what  amount  of  reformation  has  taken  place.  The 
Catholics  have  an  enormous  artificial  help  in  their  re- 
ligion and  priests ;  but  I  place  no  confidence  in  the 
slavish  obedience  they  produce  and  the  hypocrisy  which 
I  have  generally  found  inseparable  from  Catholic  influ- 
ence. I  would  far  rather  have  M.  A.  M'Intyre  coolly 
say,  '  I  know  it  was  wrong '  (a  barring  and  bolting  out) 
and  Anne  Crooks,  in  the  cell  for  outrageous  conduct, 
acknowledge  the  same  — '  I  know  it  was  wrong,  but 
1  am  not  sorry,'  than  any  hypocritical  and  heartless 
acknowledgments." 

Indeed  nobody  had  a  keener  eye  to  detect  cant  of 
any  kind,  or  a  greater  hatred  of  it.  She  told  me  one 
day  of  her  visit  to  a  celebrated  institution,  said  to  be 
supported  semi-miraculously  by  answers  to  prayer  in 
the  specific  shape  of  cheques.  Miss  Carpenter  said 
that  she  asked  the  matron  (or  some  other  official) 
whether  it  was  supported  by  voluntary  subscriptions. 
"  Oh,  dear  no  !  madam,"  the  woman  replied.  "  Do  you 
not  know  it  is  entirely  supported  by  Prayer  ?  "     "  Oh, 


260  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

indeed,"  replied  Miss  Carpenter.  "I  dare  say,  how- 
ever, when  friends  have  once  been  moved  to  send  yon 
money,  they  continue  to  do  so  regularly  ?  "  "  Yes,  cer- 
tainly they  do."  "And  they  mostly  send  it  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year  ?  "  "  Yes,  yes,  very  regularly." 
"Ah,  well,"  said  Miss  Carpenter,  "when  people  send 
me  money  for  Red  Lodge  under  those  circumstances,  I 
enter  them  in  my  Reports  as  Annual  Subscribers  !  " 

When  our  poor  children  at  last  left  the  Reformatory, 
Mary  Carpenter  always  watched  their  subsequent  career 
with  deep  interest,  gloried  in  receiving  intelligence  that 
they  were  behaving  honestly  and  steadily,  or  deplored 
their  backslidings  in  the  contrary  event.  In  short,  her 
interest  was  truly  in  the  children  themselves,  in  their 
very  souls ;  and  not  (as  such  philanthropy  too  often 
becomes)  an  interest  in  her  Institution.  Those  who 
know  most  of  such  work  will  best  understand  how  wide 
is  the  distinction. 

But  Mary  Carpenter  was  not  only  the  guardian  and 
teacher  of  the  poor  young  waifs  and  strays  of  Bristol 
when  she  had  caught  them  in  her  charity-traps.  She 
was  also  their  unwearied  advocate  with  one  Govern- 
ment after  another,  and  with  every  public  man  and 
magistrate  whom  she  could  reasonably  or  unreasonably 
attack  on  their  behalf.  Never  was  there  such  a  case  of 
the  Widow  and  the  Unjust  Judge ;  till  at  last  most 
English  statesmen  came  to  recognize  her  wisdom,  and 
to  yield  readily  to  her  pressure,  and  she  was  a  "  power 
in  the  State."  As  she  wrote  to  me  about  her  Industrial 
School,  so  was  it  in  everything  else  :  — 

"  The  magistrates  have  been  lapsing  into  their  usual 
apathy  ;  so  I  have  got  a  piece  of  artillery  to  help  me  in 
the  shape  of  Mr.  M.  D.  Hill.  .  .  .  They  have  found 
by  painful  experience  that  I  cannot  be  made  to  rest 
while  justice  is  not  done  to  these  poor  children." 
(July  6th,  1859). 

And  again,  some  years  later,  when  I  had  told  her  I 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      261 

had  sat  at  dinner  beside  a  gentleman  who  had  opposed 
many  of  her  good  projects :  — 

"I  am  very  sorry  you  did  not  see  through  Mr. , 

and  annihilate  him !  Of  course  I  shall  never  rest  in 
this  world  till  the  children  have  their  birthrights  in 
this  so-called  Christian  country ;  but  my  next  mode  of 
attack  I  have  not  decided  on  yet !"  (February  13th,  1867). 

At  last  my  residence  under  Mary  Carpenter's  roof 
came  to  a  close.  My  health  had  broken  down  two  or 
three  times  in  succession  under  a  regime  for  which 
neither  habit  nor  constitution  had  fitted  me,  and  my 
kind  friend  Dr.  Symonds'  peremptory  orders  necessi- 
tated arrangements  of  meals  which  Miss  Carpenter 
thought  would  occasion  too  much  irregularity  in  her 
little  household,  which  (it  must  be  remembered)  was 
also  a  branch  of  the  Reformatory  work.  I  also  sadly 
perceived  that  I  could  be  of  no  real  comfort  or  service 
as  an  inmate  of  her  house,  though  I  could  still  help 
her,  and  perhaps  more  effectually,  by  attending  her 
schools  while  living  alone  in  the  neighborhood.  Her 
overwrought  and  nervous  temperament  could  ill  bear 
the  strain  of  a  perpetual  companionship,  or  even  the 
idea  that  any  one  in  her  house  might  expect  companion- 
ship from  her ;  and  if,  while  I  was  yet  a  stranger,  she 
had  found  some  fresh  interest  in  my  society,  it  doubt- 
less ceased  when  I  had  been  a  twelvemonth  under  her 
roof,  and  knew  everything  which  she  could  tell  me 
about  her  work  and  plans.  As  I  often  told  her  (more 
in  earnest  than  she  supposed),  I  knew  she  would  have 
been  more  interested  in  me  had  I  been  either  more  of  a 
sinner  or  more  of  a  saint ! 

And  so,  a  few  weeks  later,  the  separation  was  made 
in  all  friendliness,  and  I  went  to  live  alone  at  Belgrave 
House,  Durdham  Down,  where  I  took  lodgings,  still 
working  pretty  regularly  at  the  Eed  Lodge  and  Ragged 
Schools,  but  gradually  engaging  more  in  Workhouse 
visiting  and  looking  after  friendless  girls,  so  that  my 


262  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

intercourse  with  Miss  Carpenter  became  less  and  less 
frequent,  though  always  cordial  and  pleasant. 

Years  afterwards,  when  I  had  ceased  to  reside  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Bristol,  I  enjoyed  several  times  the 
pleasure  of  receiving  visits  from  Miss  Carpenter  at  my 
home  in  London,  and  hearing  her  accounts  of  her 
Indian  travels  and  other  interests.  In  1877  I  went  to 
Clifton  to  attend  an  Anti-vivisection  meeting,  and  also 
one  for  Woman  Suffrage ;  and  at  the  latter  of  these  I 
found  myself  with  great  pleasure  on  the  same  platform 
with  Mary  Carpenter.  (She  was  also  an  Anti-vivisec- 
tionist  and  always  signed  our  Memorials.)  Her  biogra- 
pher and  nephew,  Professor  Estlin  Carpenter,  while 
fully  stating  her  recognition  of  the  rightfulness  of  the 
demand  for  votes  for  women  and  also  doing  us  the  great 
service  of  printing  Mr.  Mill's  most  admirable  letter  to 
her  on  the  subject  (Life,  p.  493),  seems  unaware  that 
she  ever  publicly  advocated  the  cause  of  political  rights 
for  women.  But  on  this  occasion,  as  I  have  said,  she 
took  her  place  on  the  platform  of  the  West  of  England 
Branch  of  the  Association,  at  its  meeting  in  the  Victo- 
ria Rooms  ;  and,  in  my  hearing,  either  proposed  or  sec- 
onded one  of  the  resolutions  demanding  the  franchise, 
adding  a  few  words  of  cordial  approval. 

Before  I  returned  to  London  on  this  occasion  I 
called  on  Miss  Carpenter,  bringing  with  me  a  young 
niece.  I  found  her  at  Bed  Lodge  ;  and  she  insisted  on 
my  going  with  her  over  all  our  old  haunts,  and  noting 
what  changes  and  improvements  she  had  made.  I  was 
tenderly  touched  by  her  great  kindness  to  my  young 
companion  and  to  myself;  and  by  the  added  softness 
and  gentleness  which  years  had  brought  to  her.  She 
expressed  herself  as  very  happy  in  every  way  ;  and,  in 
truth,  she  seemed  to  me  like  one  who  had  reached  the 
Land  of  Beulah,  and  for  whom  there  would  be  hence- 
forth only  peace  within  and  around. 

A  few  weeks  later  I  was  told  that  her  servant  had 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      263 

gone  into  her  bedroom  one  morning  and  found  her 
weeping  for  her  brother,  Philip  Carpenter,  of  whose 
death  she  had  just  heard.  The  next  morning  the 
woman  entered  again  at  the  same  hour,  but  Mary  Car- 
penter was  lying  quite  still,  in  the  posture  in  which  she 
had  lain  in  sleep.  Her  "  six  days'  work "  was  done. 
She  h_ad  "  gone  home,"  and  I  doubt  not  "  ta'en  her 
wages."     Here  is  the  last  letter  she  wrote  to  me  :  — 

Red  Lodge  House,  Bristol, 

March  27th,  1877. 

Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  There  are  some  things  of  which 
the  most  clear  and  unanswerable  reasoning  could  not 
convince  me !  One  of  these  is,  that  a  wise,  all-power- 
ful, and  loving  Father  can  create  an  immortal  spirit  for 
eternal  misery.  Perhaps  you  are  wiser  than  I  and 
more  accessible  to  arguments  (though  I  doubt  this), 
and  I  send  you  the  enclosed,  which  I  do  not  want  back. 
Gogurth's  answer  to  such  people  is  the  best  I  ever  heard 
—  "  If  you  are  child  of  Devil  —  good ;  but  /  am  child 
of  God ! » 

I  was  very  glad  to  get  a  glimpse  of  you ;  I  do  not 
trouble  you  with  my  doings,  knowing  that  you  have 
enough  of  your  own.  You  may  like  to  see  an  abstract 
of  my  experience. 

Yours  affectionately, 

M.  C. 

And  here  is  a  poem  which  she  gave  me  in  MS.  the 
day  she  wrote  it.     I  do  not  think  it  has  seen  the  light. 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  PRAYER. 

Onward  and  upward,  Heavenly  Father,  bear  me, 
Onward  and  upward  bear  me  to  my  home  ;  — 

Onward  and  upward,  be  Thou  ever  near  me, 
While  my  beloved  Father  beckons  me  to  come. 

With  Thy  Holy  Spirit,  O  do  thou  renew  me  ! 
Cleanse  me  from  all  that  turneth  me  from  Thee ! 


264  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

Guide  me  and  guard  me,  lead  me  and  subdue  me 
Till  I  love  not  aught  that  centres  not  in  Thee ! 

Thou  hast  filled  my  soul  with  brightness  and  with  beauty. 

Thou  hast  made  me  feel  the  sweetness  of  Thy  love. 
Purify  my  heart,  devote  me  all  to  duty, 

Sanctify  me  wholly  for  Thy  realms  above. 

Holy,  heavenly  Parent  of  this  earthborn  spirit, 

Onward  and  upward  bear  it  to  its  home, 
With  Thy  Firstborn  Son  eternal  joys  to  inherit, 

Where  my  blessed  Father  beckons  me  to  come. 

December  25th,  1858.  M.  C 

The  teaching  work  in  the  Ked  Lodge  and  the  Eagged 
Schools,  which  I  continued  for  a  long  time  after  leav- 
ing Miss  Carpenter's  house,  was  not,  I  have  thought  on 
calm  reflection  in  after  years,  very  well  done  by  me.  I 
have  always  lacked  imagination  enough  to  realize  what 
are  the  mental  limitations  of  children  of  the  poorer 
classes ;  and  in  my  eagerness  to  interest  them  and  con- 
vey my  thoughts,  I  know  I  often  spoke  over  their  heads, 
with  too  rapid  utterance  and  using  too  many  words  not 
included  in  their  small  vocabularies.  I  think  my  les- 
sons amused  and  even  sometimes  delighted  them  ;  I 
was  always  told  they  loved  them ;  but  they  enjoyed 
them  rather  I  fear  like  fireworks  than  instruction !  In 
the  Eed  Lodge  there  were  fifty  poor  little  girls  from 
ten  to  fifteen  years  of  age  who  constituted  our  prisoners. 
They  were  regularly  committed  to  the  Lodge  as  to  jail, 
and  when  Miss  Carpenter  was  absent  I  had  to  keep  the 
great  door  key.  They  used  to  sit  on  their  benches  in 
rows  opposite  to  me  in  the  beautiful  black  oak-pan- 
nelled  room  of  the  Lodge,  and  read  their  dreary  books, 
and  rejoice  (I  have  no  doubt)  when  I  broke  in  with 
explanations  and  illustrations.  Their  poor  faces,  often 
scarred  by  disease,  and  ill-shaped  heads,  were  then  lifted 
up  with  cheerful  looks  to  me,  and  I  ploughed  away  as 
best  I  could,  trying  to  get  any  ideas  into  their  minds  ; 
in  accordance   with  Mary   Carpenter's   often   repeated 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      265 

assurance  that  anything  whatever  which  could  pass 
from  my  thoughts  to  theirs  would  be  a  benefit,  as  sup- 
plying other  pabulum  than  their  past  familiarity  with 
all  things  evil.  When  we  had  got  through  one  school 
reading  book  in  this  way  I  begged  Miss  Carpenter  to 
find  me  another  to  afford  a  few  fresh  themes  for  obser- 
vations, but  no ;  she  preferred  that  I  should  go  over  the 
same  again.  Some  of  the  children  had  singular  his- 
tories. There  was  one  little  creature  named  Kitty, 
towards  whom  I  confess  my  heart  warmed  especially, 
for  her  leonine  disposition  !  Whenever  there  was  some 
mischief  discovered  and  the  question  asked,  Who  was 
in  fault?  invariably  Kitty's  hand  went  up:  "I  did  it, 
ma'am ; "  and  the  penalty,  even  of  incarceration  in  a 
certain  dreaded  "  cell,"  was  heroically  endured.  Kitty 
had  been  duly  convicted  at  Sessions  at  the  mature  age 
of  ten.  Of  what  high  crime  and  misdemeanor  does  the 
reader  suppose  ?  Pilfering,  perhaps,  a  pocket-handker- 
chief, or  a  penny  ?  Not  at  all !  Of  nothing  less  than 
Horse-stealing  !  She  and  her  brother,  a  mite  two  years 
younger  than  herself,  were  despatched  by  their  vaga- 
bond parents  to  journey  by  one  road,  while  they  them- 
selves travelled  by  another,  and  on  the  way  the  children, 
who  were,  of  course,  directed  to  pick  and  steal  all  they 
could  lay  hands  on,  observed  an  old  grey  mare  feeding 
in  a  field  near  the  road,  and  reflecting  that  a  ride  on 
horseback  would  be  preferable  to  their  pilgrimage  on 
foot,  they  scrambled  on  the  mare's  back  and  by  some 
means  guided  her  down  the  road  and  went  off  in 
triumph.  The  aggrieved  farmer  to  whom  the  mare 
belonged  brought  the  delinquents  to  justice,  and  after 
being  tried  with  all  the  solemn  forms  of  British  law 
(their  heads  scarcely  visible  over  the  dock),  the  chil- 
dren were  sent  respectively  to  a  Boys'  Keformatory, 
and  to  Ked  Lodge.  We  kept  Kitty,  of  course,  till  her 
full  term  expired  when  she  was  fifteen,  and  I  am  afraid 
Miss  Carpenter  strained  the  law  a  little  in  detaining 


266  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

her  still  longer  to  allow  her  to  gain  more  discretion 
before  returning  to  those  dreadful  tramps,  her  parents. 
She  herself,  indeed,  felt  the  danger  as  she  grew  older, 
and  attached  herself  much  to  us  both.  A  teacher  whom 
I  had  imported  from  Ireland  (one  of  my  own  village 
pupils  from  Donabate)  told  me  that  Kitty  spoke  of  us 
with  tears,  and  that  she  had  seen  her  one  day,  when 
given  a  stocking  of  mine  whereupon  to  practise  darn- 
ing, furtively  kissing  it  when  she  thought  no  one  was 
observing  her.  She  once  said,  "  God  bless  Exeter  jail ! 
I  should  never  have  been  here  but  for  that."  But  at 
last,  like  George  Eliot's  Gipsy,  the  claims  of  race  over- 
mastered all  her  other  feelings.  Kitty  left  us  to  rejoin 
her  mother,  who  had  perpetually  called  to  see  her  ;  and 
a  month  or  two  later  the  poor  child  died  of  fever,  caught 
in  the  wretched  haunts  of  her  family. 

In  a  visit  which  I  made  to  Red  Lodge  two  years  ago, 
I  was  struck  by  the  improved  physical  aspect  of  the 
poor  girls  in  the  charge  of  our  successors.  The  de- 
pressed, almost  flattened,  form  of  head  which  the  expe- 
rienced eye  of  Sir  Walter  Crofton  had  caught  (as  I  did) 
as  a  terrible  "  note  "  of  hereditary  crime,  was  no  longer 
visible ;  nor  was  the  miserable  blear-eyed,  scrofulous 
appearance  of  the  faces  of  many  of  my  old  pupils  to  be 
seen  any  more.  Thirty  years  have,  I  hope  and  believe, 
raised  even  the  very  lowest  stratum  of  the  population  of 
England. 

Miss  Carpenter's  work  in  founding  the  first  Reforma- 
tory for  girl-criminals  with  the  munificent  aid  of  that 
generous  woman,  Lady  Byron,  has,  beyond  question, 
contributed  in  no  mean  degree  to  thinning  the  ranks 
of  female  crime  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century. 
Issuing  from  the  Red  Lodge  at  the  end  of  their  four 
or  five  years'  term  of  confinement  and  instruction,  the 
girls  rarely  returned,  like  poor  Kitty,  to  their  parents, 
but  passed  first  through  a  probation  as  Miss  Carpenter's 
own  servants  in  her  private  house,  under  good  Marianne 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      267 

and  her  successors,  and  then  into  that  humbler  sort  of 
domestic  service  which  is  best  for  girls  of  their  class  ;  I 
mean  that  wherein  the  mistress  works  and  takes  her 
meals  with  the  servant.  The  pride  and  joy  of  these 
girls  when  they  settled  into  steady  usefulness  was  often 
a  pleasure  to  witness.  Miss  Carpenter  used  to  say, 
"  When  I  hear  one  of  them  talk  of  '  my  kitchen,'  I 
know  it  is  all  right ! "  Of  course  many  of  them  eventu- 
ally married  respectably.  On  the  whole  I  do  not  think 
that  more  than  five,  or  at  the  outside  ten,  per  cent,  fell 
into  either  crime  or  vice  after  leaving  Eed  Lodge,  and 
if  we  suppose  that  there  have  been  something  like  five 
hundred  girls  in  the  Reformatory  since  Lady  Byron 
bought  the  Red  Lodge  and  dedicated  it  to  that  benevo- 
lent use,  we  may  fairly  estimate  that  Mary  Carpenter 
deflected  towards  goodness  the  lives  of  at  least  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  women,  who,  if  she  had  not  stirred  in 
their  interest,  would  almost  inevitably  have  spent  their 
days  in  crime  or  vice,  and  ended  them  either  in  jail  or 
in  the  "  Black  Ward  "  of  the  workhouse. 

There  is  an  epitaph  on  a  good  clergyman  in  one  of 
the  old  churches  of  Bristol  which  I  have  always  thought 
remarkably  fine.     It  runs  thus  as  far  as  I  remember :  — 

"  Marble  may  moulder,  monuments  decay, 
Time  sweeps  memorials  from  the  earth  away  ; 
But  lasting  records  are  to  Brydges  given, 
The  date  Eternity,  the  archives  Heaven  ; 
There  living  tablets  with  his  worth  engraved 
Stand  forth  for  ever  in  the  souls  he  saved." 

We  do  not,  in  our  day  (unless  we  happen  to  belong  to 
the  Salvation  Army),  talk  much  about  "  saving  souls  " 
in  the  old  Evangelical  sense ;  and  I,  at  least,  hold  very 
strongly,  and  have  even  preached  to  the  purpose,  that 
every  human  soul  is  " Doomed  to  he  saved"  destined  by 
irrevocable  Divine  love  and  mercy  to  be  sooner  or  later, 
in  this  world  or  far  off  worlds  to  come,  brought  like  the 
Prodigal  to  the  Father's  feet.     But  there  is  a  very  real 


268  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

sense  in  which  a  true  philanthropist  "  saves  "  his  fellow- 
men  from  moral  evil  —  the  sense  in  which  Plutarch 
uses  the  word,  and  which  every  theology  must  accept, 
and  in  this  sense  I  unhesitatingly  affirm  that  Mary 
Carpenter  saved  four  hundred  human  souls. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  also  that  it  was  not  only  in 
her  own  special  Eeformatory  that  her  work  was  carried 
on.  By  advocating  in  her  books  and  by  her  active  pub- 
lic pleading  the  modification  of  the  laws  touching  juve- 
nile crime,  she  practically  originated  —  in  concert  with 
Recorder  Hill  —  the  immense  improvement  which  has 
taken  place  in  the  whole  treatment  of  young  criminals 
who,  before  her  time,  were  simply  sent  to  jail,  and  there 
too  often  stamped  with  the  hall-mark  of  crime  for  life. 

As  regards  the  other  part  of  Miss  Carpenter's  work 
which  she  permitted  me  to  share,  —  the  Ragged  Schools 
and  Street-boys'  Sunday  School  in  St.  James'  Back, — 
I  labored,  of  course,  under  the  same  disadvantage  as  in 
the  Red  Lodge  of  never  clearly  foreseeing  how  much 
would  be  understood  of  my  words  or  ideas ;  and  what 
would  be  most  decidedly  "  caviar  to  the  general."  A 
ludicrous  example  of  this  occurred  on  one  occasion.  I 
always  anxiously  desired  to  instil  into  the  minds  of  the 
children  admiration  for  brave  and  noble  deeds,  and 
therefore  told  them  stories  of  heroism  whenever  my 
subject  afforded  an  opening  for  me.  Having  to  give  a 
lesson  on  France,  and  some  boy  asking  a  question  about 
the  Guillotine,  I  narrated,  as  vivaciously  and  dramati- 
cally as  I  knew  how,  the  beautiful  tale  of  the  nuns  who 
chanted  the  "  Te  Deum  "  on  the  scaffold,  till  one  voice 
after  another  was  silenced  for  ever,  and  the  brave  Ab- 
bess still  continued  to  sing  the  grand  old  hymn  of  Am- 
brose, till  her  turn  came  for  death.  I  fondly  hoped 
that  some  of  my  own  feelings  in  describing  the  scene 
were  communicated  to  my  audience.  But  such  hopes 
were  dashed  when,  a  day  or  two  later,  Miss  Carpenter 
came  home  from  her  lesson  at  the  school,  and  said: 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      269 

"My  dear  friend,  what  in  the  name  of  heaven  can  you 
have  been  teaching  those  boys  ?  They  were  all  excited 
about  some  lesson  you  had  given  them.  They  said  you 
described  cutting  off  a  lot  of  heads  ;  and  it  was  '  chop  ! 
and  a  head,  fell  into  the  basket ;  and  chop  !  another 
head  in  the  basket ! '  They  said  it  was  such  a  nice  les- 
son !  But  xohose  heads  were  cut  off,  or  why,  none  of 
them  remembered,  — only  chop  !  and  a  head  fell  in  the 
basket ! " 

I  consoled  myself,  however,  for  this  and  many  an- 
other defeat  by  the  belief  that  if  my  lessons  did  not 
much  instruct  their  wild  pates,  their  hearts  were  bene- 
fited in  some  small  measure  by  being  brought  under  my 
friendly  influence.  Miss  Carpenter  always  made  the 
schoolmaster  of  the  Day  School  attend  at  our  Sunday 
Night  School,  fearing  some  wild  outbreak  of  the  one 
hundred  and  odd  boys  and  hobbledehoys  who  formed 
our  congregation.  The  first  Sunday,  however,  on  which 
the  school  was  given  into  my  charge,  I  told  the  school- 
master he  might  leave  me  and  go  home;  and  I  then 
stopped  alone  (we  had  no  assistants)  with  the  little 
herd.  My  lessons,  I  am  quite  sure,  were  all  the  more 
impressive ;  and  though  Miss  Carpenter  was  quite 
alarmed  when  she  heard  what  I  had  done,  she  consented 
to  my  following  my  own  system  of  confidence,  and  I 
never  had  reason  to  repent  the  adoption  of  it. 

In  my  humble  judgment  (and  I  know  it  was  also  that 
of  one  much  better  able  to  judge,  Lord  Shaftesbury) 
these  elastic  and  irregular  Ragged  Schools  were  far 
better  institutions  for  the  class  for  whom  they  were 
designed  than  the  cast-iron  Board  Schools  of  our 
time.  They  were  specially  designed  to  civilize  the  chil- 
dren ;  to  tame  them  enough  to  induce  them,  for  example, 
to  sit  reasonably  still  on  a  bench  for  half  an  hour  at  a 
time ;  to  wash  the'ir  hands  and  faces ;  to  comb  their  hair  ; 
to  forbear  from  shouting,  singing,  "  turning  wheels," 
throwing  marbles,  making  faces,  or  similarly  disporting 


270  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

themselves,  while  in  school ;  after  which  preliminaries 
they  began  to  acquire  the  art  of  learning  lessons.  It 
was  not  exactly  Education  in  the  literary  sense,  but  it 
was  a  Training,  without  which  as  a  substructure  the 
"  Three  R's  "  are  of  little  avail,  —  if  we  may  believe  in 
William  of  Wykeham's  axiom  that  "  Manners  makyth 
Manne." 

Another,  and,  as  I  think,  great  merit  of  the  Eagged 
School  system  was,  that  decent  and  self-respecting 
parents  who  strove  to  keep  their  children  from  the  con- 
tamination of  the  gutter,  and  were  willing  to  pay  their 
penny  a  week  to  send  them  to  school,  were  not  obliged, 
as  now,  to  suffer  their  boys  and  girls  to  associate  in  the 
Board  Schools  with  the  very  lowest  and  roughest  of 
children  fresh  from  the  streets.  Nothing  has  made  me 
more  indignant  than  a  report  I  read  some  time  ago  in 
one  of  the  newspapers  of  a  poor  widow  who  had  "seen 
better  days,"  being  summoned  and  fined  for  engaging  a 
non-certified  poor  governess  to  teach  her  little  girl, 
rather  than  allow  the  child  to  attend  the  Board  School 
and  associate  with  the  girls  she  would  meet  there.  As 
if  all  the  learning  of  a  Porson,  if  he  could  pour  it  into 
a  child's  brain,  would  counterbalance  in  a  young  girl's 
mind  the  foul  words  and  ideas  familiar  to  the  hapless 
children  of  the  "  perishing  and  dangerous  classes  ! " 

People  talk  seriously  of  the  physical  infection  which 
may  be  conveyed  where  many  young  children  are 
gathered  in  close  contiguity.  They  would,  if  they 
knew  more,  much  more  anxiously  deprecate  the  moral 
contagion  which  may  be  introduced  into  a  school  by 
a  single  girl  who  has  been  initiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  a  vicious  home.  On  two  separate  occasions 
Miss  Carpenter  and  I  were  startled  by  what  I  can  only 
describe  as  a  portentous  wave  of  evil  which  passed 
over  the  entire  community  of  fifty  girls  in  the  Red 
Lodge.  In  each  case  it  was  undeniably  traceable  to 
the  arrival  of  new  comers  who  had  been  sent  by  mis- 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      271 

take  of  magistrates  to  our  Reformatory  when  they 
ought  to  have  gone  to  the  Penitentiary.  It  was  impos- 
sible for  us  to  guess  how,  with  all  the  watchful 
guardianship  of  the  teachers,  these  unhappy  girls  had 
any  opportunity  for  corrupting  their  companions,  but 
that  they  did  so  (temporarily  only,  as  they  were 
immediately  discovered  and  banished)  I  saw  with  my 
own  eyes  beyond  possibility  of  mistake. 

It  came  to  me  as  part  of  my  work  with  Miss  Carpen- 
ter to  visit  the  homes  of  all  the  children  who  attended 
our  Eagged  Schools  —  either  Day  Schools  or  Night 
Schools ;  nominally  to  see  whether  they  belonged  to 
the  class  which  should  properly  benefit  by  gratuitous 
education,  but  also  to  find  out  whether  I  could  do  any- 
thing to  amend  their  condition.  Many  were  the 
lessons  I  learned  respecting  the  "  short "  but  by  no 
means  "simple"  annals  of  the  poor,  when  I  made 
those  visits  all  over  the  slums  of  Bristol. 

The  shoemakers  were  a  very  numerous  and  a  very 
miserable  class  among  the  parents  of  our  pupils. 
"When  anything  interfered  with  the  trade  they  were  at 
once  thrown  into  complete  idleness  and  destitution. 
Over  and  over  again  I  tried  to  get  the  poor  fellows, 
when  they  sat  listless  and  lamenting,  to  turn  to  any 
other  kind  of  labor  in  their  own  line ;  to  endeavor,  e.  g., 
to  make  slippers  for  me,  no  matter  how  roughly,  or  to 
mend  my  boots  ;  promising  similar  orders  from  friends. 
Not  one  would,  or  could,  do  anything  but  sew  upper  or 
under  leathers,  as  the  case  might  be  !  The  men  sat  all 
day  long  when  there  was  work,  sewing  in  their  stuffy 
rooms  with  their  wives  busy  washing  or  attending  to 
the  children,  and  the  whole  place  in  a  muddle ;  but 
they  would  converse  eagerly  and  intelligently  with  me 
about  politics  or  about  other  towns  and  countries, 
whereas  the  poor  overworked  women  would  never  join 
in  our  talk.  When  I  addressed  them  they  at  once 
called   my  attention  to  Jenny's  torn  frock  and  Tom's 


272  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

want  of  a  new  cap.  One  of  these  shoemakers,  in  whom 
I  felt  rather  special  interest,  turned  to  me  one  day, 
looked  me  straight  in  the  face,  and  said :  "  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  question.  Why  does  a  lady  like  you  come 
and  sit  and  talk  to  me  ?  "  I  thought  it  a  true  token  of 
confidence,  and  was  glad  I  could  answer  honestly  that 
I  had  come  first  to  see  about  his  children,  but  now 
came  because  I  liked  him. 

Other  cases  which  came  to  my  knowledge  in  these 
rounds  were  dreadfully  sad.  In  one  poor  room  I 
found  a  woman  who  had  been  confined  only  a  few  days, 
sitting  up  in  bed  doing  shopwork,  her  three  or  four 
little  children  all  endeavoring  to  work  likewise  for  the 
miserable  pay.  Her  husband  was  out  looking  vainly 
for  work.  She  showed  me  a  sheaf  of  pawntickets  for  a 
large  quantity  of  table  and  house  linen  and  plated 
goods.  Her  husband  and  she  had  formerly  kept  a 
flourishing  inn,  but  the  railway  had  ruined  it  and  they 
had  been  obliged  to  give  it  up  and  come  to  live  in 
Bristol,  and  get  such  work  as  they  could  do  —  at  star- 
vation wages.  She  was  a  gentle,  delicate,  fair  woman, 
who  had  been  lady's  maid  in  a  wealthy  family  known 
to  me  by  name.  I  asked  her  did  she  not  go  out  and 
bring  the  children  to  the  Downs  on  a  Sunday  ?  "  Ah ! 
we  tried  it  once  or  twice,"  she  said,  "but  it  was  too 
terrible  coming  back  to  this  room ;  we  never  go  now." 

Another  case  of  extreme  poverty  was  less  tragic. 
There  was  a  woman  with  three  children  whose  husband 
was  a  soldier  in  India,  to  whom  she  longingly  hoped  to 
be  eventually  sent  out  by  the  military  authorities. 
Meanwhile  she  was  in  extreme  poverty  in  Bristol,  and 
so  was  her  friend,  a  fine  young  Irish  woman.  Their 
sole  resource  was  a  neighbor  who  possessed  a  pair  of 
good  sheets,  and  was  willing  to  lend  them  to  them  by 
day,  provided  they  were  restored  for  her  own  use  every 
night !  This  did  not  appear  a  very  promising  source  of 
income,  but  the  two  friends  contrived  to  make  it  one. 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      273 

They  took  the  sheets  of  a  morning  to  a  pawnbroker 
who  allowed  them,  —  I  think  it  was  two  shillings,  upon 
them.  With  this  they  stocked  a  basket  with  oranges, 
apples,  gooseberries,  pins  and  needles,  match  boxes, 
lace,  —  anything  which  could  be  had  for  such  a  price, 
according  to  the  season.  Then  one  or  other  of  the 
friends  arrayed  herself  in  the  solitary  bonnet  and  shawl 
which  they  possessed  between  them,  and  sallied  out 
for  the  day  to  dispose  of  her  wares,  while  the  other 
remained  in  their  single  room  to  take  care  of  the 
children.  The  evening  meal  was  bought  and  brought 
home  by  the  outgoing  friend  with  the  proceeds  of  her 
day's  sales,  and  then  the  sheets  were  redeemed  from 
pawn  at  the  price  of  a  halfpenny  each  day  and  grate- 
fully restored  to  the  proprietor.  This  ingenious  mode 
of  filling  five  mouths  went  on,  with  a  little  help,  when 
I  came  to  know  of  it,  in  the  way  of  a  fresh-filled 
basket  —  for  a  whole  winter.  I  thought  it  so  curious 
that  I  described  it  to  dear  Harriet  St.  Leger  one  day 
when  she  was  passing  through  Bristol  and  spent  some 
hours  with  me.  She  was  affected  almost  to  tears  and 
pushed  into  my  hand,  at  the  last  moment  at  the 
Station,  all  the  silver  in  her  purse,  to  give  to  the 
friends.  The  money  amounted  to  7s.  6d.,  and  when 
Harriet  was  gone  I  hastened  to  give  it  to  the  poor 
souls.  It  proved  to  be  one  of  the  numerous  occasions 
in  life  in  which  I  have  experienced  a  sort  of  fatality,  as 
if  the  chance  of  doing  a  bit  of  good  to  somebody  were 
offered  to  us  by  Providence  to  take  or  leave  and,  if  we 
postpone  taking  it,  the  chance  is  lost.  I  was  tired,  and 
the  room  inhabited  by  the  poor  women  was,  as  it 
happened,  at  the  other  end  of  Bristol  and  I  could  not 
indulge  myself  with  a  fly,  but  I  reflected  that  the 
money  now  really  belonged  to  them,  and  I  was  bound 
to  take  it  to  them  without  delay.  When  I  reached 
their  room  I  found  I  was  in  the  very  nick  of  time.  An 
order  had  come  for  the  soldier's  wife  to  present  herself 


274  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

at  some  military  office  next  day  with  her  children,  and 
with  a  certain  "  kit "  of  clothes  and  utensils  for  the 
voyage,  and  if  all  were  right  she  would  be  sent  to  join 
her  husband's  regiment  in  India  by  a  vessel  to  sail 
immediately.  Without  the  proper  outfit  she  would  not 
have  been  taken ;  and  of  course  the  poor  soul  had  no 
kit  and  was  in  an  agony  of  anxiety.  Harriet's  gift, 
with  some  trifling  addition,  happily  supplied  all  that 
was  wanted. 

I  did  not  see  so  much  of  drunkenness  in  Bristol  as 
the  prominence  given  to  the  subject  by  many  philan- 
thropists led  me  to  expect.  Of  course  I  came  across 
terrible  cases  of  it  now  and  then,  as  for  example  a  little 
boy  of  ten  at  our  Ragged  School  who  begged  Miss  Car- 
penter to  let  him  go  home  at  mid-day,  and  on  inquiry,  it 
proved  that  he  wanted  to  release  his  mother,  whom  he 
had  locked  in,  dead-drunk,  at  nine  in  the  morning.  I 
also  had  a  frightful  experience  of  the  case  of  the 
drunken  wife  of  a  poor  man  dying  of  agonizing  cancer. 
The  doctor  who  attended  him  told  me  that  a  little 
brandy  was  the  only  thing  to  help  him,  and  I  brought 
small  quantities  to  him  frequently,  till,  when  I  was 
leaving  home  for  three  weeks,  I  thought  it  best  to  give 
a  whole  bottle  to  his  wife  under  injunctions  to  adminis- 
ter it  by  proper  degrees.  Happening  to  pass  by  the 
door  of  the  wretched  couple  a  day  later,  before  I 
started,  I  saw  a  small  crowd,  and  asked  what  had  hap- 
pened. "  Mrs.  Whale  had  been  drinking  and  had  fal- 
len down  stairs  and  broken  her  neck  and  was  dead." 
Horror-struck  I  mounted  the  almost  perpendicular  stair 
and  found  it  was  so  ;  the  poor  hapless  husband  was  still 
alive,  and  my  empty  brandy  bottle  was  on  the  table. 

The  other  great  form  of  vice,  however,  was  thrust 
much  more  often  on  my  notice  —  the  ghastly  ruin  of 
the  wretched  girls  who  fell  into  it  and  the  nameless 
damnation  of  the  hags  and  Jews  who  traded  on  their 
souls  and  bodies.     The  cruelty  of  the  fate  of  some  of 


REFORMATORIES  AND  RAGGED  SCHOOLS.      275 

the  young  women  was  often  piteous.  Thankful  I  am 
that  the  law  for  assaults  has  been  made  since  those 
days  far  more  stringent  and  is  oftener  put  in  force. 
There  were  stories  which  came  to  my  personal  know- 
ledge which  would  draw  tears  from  many  eyes  were  I 
to  tell  them,  but  the  more  cruel  the  wrong  done,  the 
more  difficult  it  generally  proved  to  induce  anybody  to 
undertake  to  receive  the  victims  into  their  houses  on 
any  terms. 

A  gentleman  whom  I  met  in  Italy,  who  knew  Bristol 
well,  told  me  he  had  watched  a  poor  young  sailor's 
destruction  under  the  influence  of  some  of  the  eighteen 
hundred  miserable  women  then  infesting  the  city.  He 
had  just  been  paid  off  and  had  received  £73  for  a  long 
service  at  sea.  Mr.  Empson  first  saw  him  in  the  fangs 
of  two  of  the  wretched  creatures,  and  next,  six  weeks 
later,  he  found  him  dying  in  the  Infirmary,  having 
spent  every  shilling  of  his  money  in  drink  and  debauch- 
ery. He  told  Mr.  Empson  that,  after  the  first  week,  he 
had  never  taken  any  food  at  all,  but  lived  only  on  stim- 
ulants. 


CHAPTEB  XL 

BRISTOL.  THE    SICK    IN    WORKHOUSES. 

My  new  life  on  Durdham  Down,  though  solitary,  was 
a  very  happy  one.     I  had  two  nice  rooms  in  Belgrave 
House  (then  the  last  house  on  the  road  opening  on  the 
beautiful   Downs  from   the  Eedland  side,)  wherein  a 
bright,    excellent,    pretty    widow,    Mrs.    Stone,    kept 
several  suites  of  lodgings.     It  is  not  often,  alas !  that 
the   relations  of  lodger  and   landlady   are   altogether 
pleasant,  but  in  my  case  they  were  eminently  so,  and 
resulted  in  cordial  and  permanent  mutual  regard.     My 
little    bedroom    opened   by   a   French    window    on    a 
balcony  leading  to  a  small  garden,  and  beyond  it  I  had 
an  immense  view  of  Bristol  and  the  surrounding  coun- 
try, over  the  smoke  of  which  the  rising  sun  often  made 
Turneresque   pictures.      My    sitting-room   had  a  front 
and  a  corner  view  of  the  delightful  Downs  as  far  as 
"Cook's    Folly"    and   the    Nightingale    Valley;    and 
often,  over  the  "  Sea  Wall,"  the  setting  sun  went  down 
in   great  glory.     I  walked  down   every  week-day  into 
Bristol  (of  course  I  needed  more  than  ever  to  econo- 
mize, and  even  the  omnibus  fare  had  to  be  considered), 
and  went  about  my  various  avocations  in  the  schools 
and  workhouse  till  I  could  do  no  more,  when  I  made 
my  way  home  as  cheaply  as  I  could  contrive,  to  dinner. 
I  had  my  clear  dog  Hajjin,  a  lovely,  mouse-colored  Pom- 
eranian, for  companion  at  all  times,  and  on  Sundays  we 
generally  treated  ourselves  to  a  good  ramble  over  the 
Downs  and  beyond  them,  perhaps   as   far  as   Kings'- 
Weston.     The  whole  district  is  dear  to  me  still. 


THE  SICK  IN   WORKHOUSES.  277 

The  return  to  fresh  air  and  to  something-  like  coun- 
try life  was  delightful.  It  had  been,  I  must  avow,  an 
immense  strain  on  my  resolution  to  live  in  Bristol 
among  all  the  sordid  surroundings  of  Miss  Carpenter's 
house ;  and  when  once  in  a  way  in  those  days  I  left 
them  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  country,  the  effort  to 
force  myself  back  was  a  hard  one.  One  soft  spring 
day,  I  remember,  I  had  gone  across  the  Downs  and  sat 
for  half  an  hour  under  a  certain  horse-chestnut  tree, 
which  was  that  day  in  all  the  exquisite  beauty  of  its 
young  green  leaves.  I  felt  this  was  all  I  wanted  to 
be  happy  —  merely  to  live  in  the  beauty  and  peace  of 
Nature,  as  of  old  at  Newbridge  ;  and  I  reflected  that,  of 
course,  I  could  do  it,  at  once,  by  breaking  off  with  Miss 
Carpenter  and  giving  up  my  work  in  hideous  Bristol. 
But,  per  contra,  I  had  concluded  that  this  work  was 
wanted  to  be  done  and  that  I  could  do  it ;  and  had 
seriously  given  myself  to  it,  believing  that  so  I  could 
best  do  God's  will.  Thus  there  went  on  in  my  mind 
for  a  little  while  a  very  stiff  fight,  one  of  those  which 
leave  us  either  stronger  or  weaker  ever  after.  Now  at 
last,  without  any  effort  on  my  part,  the  bond  which 
held  me  to  live  in  Bed  Lodge  House  was  loosened,  and 
I  was  able  to  go  on  with  my  work  in  Bristol  and  also  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air  in  the  morning  and  to  see  the  sun 
rise  and  set,  and  often  to  enjoy  a  healthful  run  over 
those  beautiful  Downs.  By  degrees,  also,  I  made  sev- 
eral friendships  in  the  neighborhood,  some  most  dear 
and  faithful  ones  which  have  lasted  ever  since ;  and 
many  people  were  very  kind  to-  me  and  helped  me  in 
various  ways  in  my  work.  I  shall  speak  of  these 
friends  in  another  chapter. 

One  of  my  superstitions  has  long  been  that  if  any 
particular  task  seems  to  us  at  the  first  outlook  specially 
against  the  grain,  it  will  continually  happen  that  in  the 
order  of  things  it  comes  knocking  at  our  door  and 
practically  saying  to  our  consciences  :  "  Are  you  going 


278  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

to  get  up  and  do  what  is  wanted,  or  sit  still  and  please 
yourself  with  something  else  ?  "  In  this  guise  of  dis- 
agreeability,  workhouse  visiting  first  presented  itself  to 
me.  Miss  Carpenter  frequently  mentioned  the  work- 
house as  a  place  which  ought  to  be  looked  after ;  and 
which  she  believed  sadly  wanted  voluntary  inspection ; 
but  the  very  name  conveyed  to  me  such  an  impression 
of  dreary  hopelessness  that  I  shrank  from  the  thought. 
When  St.  Paul  coupled  Hope  with  Faith  and  Charity, 
he  might  have  said  "  these  three  are  one,"  for  without 
the  Hope  of  achieving  some  good  (or  at  least  of  stop- 
ping some  evil)  it  is  hard  to  gird  ourselves  to  any  prac- 
tical exertion  for  our  fellow  creatures.  To  lift  up  the 
criminal  and  perishing  classes  of  the  community  and 
cut  off  the  root  of  crime  and  vice  by  training  children 
in  morality  and  religion,  this  was  a  soul-inspiring  idea. 
But  to  bring  a  small  modicum  of  cheer  to  the  aged  and 
miserable  paupers,  who  may  be  supposed  generally  to 
be  undergoing  the  inevitable  penalties  of  idle  or 
drunken  lives,  was  far  from  equally  uplifting  !  How- 
ever, my  first  chance  visit  to  St.  Peter's  in  Bristol  with 
Miss  Elliot,  showed  me  so  much  to  be  done,  so  many 
claims  to  sympathy  and  pity,  and  the  sore  lack  of  some- 
body, unconnected  officially  with  the  place,  to  meet 
them,  that  I  at  once  felt  that  here  I  must  put  in  my 
oar. 

The  condition  of  the  English  workhouses  generally 
at  that  period  (1859)  was  very  different  from  what  it  is 
now.  I  visited  many  of  them  in  the  following  year  or 
two  in  London  and  the  provincial  towns,  and  this  is 
what  I  saw.  The  sick  lay  on  wretched  beds,  fit  only 
for  able-bodied  tramps,  and  were  nursed  mostly  by  old 
pauper  women  of  the  very  lowest  class.  The  infirm 
wards  were  very  frequently  placed  in  the  worst  possi- 
ble positions.  I  remember  one  (in  London)  which 
resounded  all  day  long  with  din  from  an  iron-foundry 
just  beneath,  so  that  one  could  not  hear  oneself  speak ; 


THE  SICE  IN   WOREIIOUSES.  279 

and  another,  of  which  the  windows  could  not  be  opened 
in  the  hottest  weather,  because  carpets  were  taken  to 
be  beaten  in  the  court  below.  The  treatment  of  the 
pauper  children  was  no  less  deplorable.  They  were 
joyless,  spiritless  little  creatures,  without  "mothering" 
(as  blessed  Mrs.  Senior  said  a  few  years  later),  without 
toys,  without  the  chance  of  learning  anything  practical 
for  use  in  after  life,  even  to  the  lighting  of  a  fire  or 
cooking  a  potato.  Their  poor  faces  were  often  scarred 
by  disease  and  half  blinded  by  ophthalmia.  The  girls 
wore  the  hideous  workhouse  cotton  frocks,  not  half 
warm  enough  to  keep  them  healthy  in  those  bare, 
draughty  wards,  and  heavy  hob-nailed  shoes  which 
acted  like  galley-slaves'  bullets  on  their  feet  when  they 
were  turned  to  "  play  "  in  a  high-walled,  sunless  yard, 
which  was  sometimes,  as  I  have  seen,  six  inches  deep 
in  coarse  gravel.  As  to  the  infants,  if  they  happened 
to  have  a  good  motherly  matron  it  was  so  far  well, 
though  even  she  (mostly  busy  elsewhere)  could  do  but 
little  to  make  the  crabbed  old  pauper  nurses  kind  and 
patient.  But  how  often,  we  might  ask,  were  the  work- 
house matrons  of  those  days  really  kind-hearted  and 
motherly  ?  Of  course  they  were  selected  by  the 
gentlemen  guardians  (there  were  no  ladies  then  on  the 
Boards)  for  quite  other  merits ;  and  as  Miss  Carpenter 
once  remarked  to  me  from  the  depth  of  her  experience  : 

"  There  never  yet  was  a  man  so  clever  but  the  matron 
of  an  Institution  could  bamboozle  him  about  every  depart- 
ment of  her  business  !  " 

I  have  sat  in  the  infants'  ward  when  an  entire  Board 
of  about  two  dozen  gentlemen  tramped  through  it,  for 
what  they  considered  to  be  "  inspection ; "  and  any- 
thing more  helpless  and  absurd  than  those  masculine 
"  authorities  "  appeared  as  they  glanced  at  the  little 
cots  (never  daring  to  open  one  of  them)  while  the 
awakened  babies  screamed  at  them  in  chorus,  it  has 
seldom  been  my  lot  to  witness. 


280  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

On  one  occasion  I  visited  an  enormous  workhouse 
in  a  provincial  town  where  there  were  nearly  five  hun- 
dred sick  and  infirm  patients.  The  matron  told  me 
she  had  but  lately  been  appointed  to  her  post.  I  said, 
"  It  is  a  tremendously  heavy  charge  for  you,  especially 
with  only  these  pauper  nurses.  No  doubt  you  have 
gone  through  a  course  of  Hospital  training,  and  know 
how  to  direct  everything  ?  " 

"  0,  dear  no  !  madam  !  "  replied  the  lady  with  a  toss 
of  her  cap-strings  ;  "  I  never  nursed  anybody  I  can 
assure  you,  except  my  'usband,  before  I  came  here.  It 
was  misfortune  brought  me  to  this  ! " 

How  many  other  masters  and  matrons  throughout 
the  country  received  their  appointments  with  as  little 
fitness  for  them  and  simply  as  favors  from  influential 
or  easy-going  guardians,  who  may  guess  ? 

I  had  at  this  time  become  acquainted  with  the  friend 
whose  comradeship  —  cemented  in  the  dreary  wards  of 
Bristol  Workhouse  more  than  thirty  years  ago  —  has 
been  ever  since  one  of  the  great  pleasures  of  my  life.  All 
those  who  know  Miss  Elliot,  daughter  of  the  late  Dean  of 
Bristol,  will  admit  that  it  would  be  very  superfluous, 
not  to  say  impertinent,  to  enlarge  on  the  privileges  of 
friendship  with  her.  Miss  Elliot  was  at  that  time  liv- 
ing at  the  old  Deanery  close  to  Bristol  Cathedral,  and 
taking  part  in  every  good  work  which  was  going  on  in 
the  city  and  neighborhood.  Among  other  things  she 
had  been  teaching  regularly  for  years  in  Miss  Carpen- 
ter's Beformatory,  regardless  of  the  prejudice  against 
her  unitarianism ;  and  one  day  she  called  at  Miss  Car- 
penter's house  to  ask  her  what  was  to  be  done  with 
Kitty,  who  had  been  very  naughty.  Miss  Carpenter 
asked  her  to  see  the  lady  who  had  come  to  work  with 
her ;  and  we  met  for  the  first  time.  Miss  Elliot  begged 
me  to  return  her  visit,  and  though  nothing  was  further 
from  my  mind  at  that  time  than  to  enter  into  anything 
like  society,  I  was  tempted  by  the  great  attractions  of 


THE  SICK  IN   WOEKHOUSES.  281 

my  brilliant  young  friend  and  her  sister  and  of  the  witty 
and  wide-minded  Dean,  and  before  long  (especially 
after  I  went  to  live  alone)  I  enjoyed  much  intercourse 
with  the  delightful  household. 

Miss  Elliot  had  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting  a  poor 
old  woman  named  Mrs.  Buckley,  who  had  formerly 
lived  close  to  the  Deanery  and  had  been  removed  to  the 
workhouse ;  and  one  day  she  asked  me  to  accompany 
her  on  her  errand.  This  being  over,  I  wandered  off  to 
the  various  wards  where  other  poor  women,  and  also 
the  old  and  invalid  men,  spent  their  dreary  days,  and 
soon  perceived  how  large  a  field  was  open  for  useful- 
ness in  the  place. 

The  first  matter  which  occupied  us  was  the  condition 
of  the  sick  and  infirm  paupers  ;  first  of  the  women  only ; 
later  of  both  men  and  women.  The  good  master  and 
matron  admitted  us  quite  freely  to  the  wards,  and  we 
saw  and  knew  everything  which  was  going  on.  St. 
Peter's  was  an  exceptional  workhouse  in  many  respects. 
The  house  was  evidently  at  one  time  (about  a.  d.  1600, 
like  Red  Lodge)  the  mansion  of  some  merchant  prince 
of  Bristol,  erected  in  the  midst  of  the  city.  The  outer 
walls  are  still  splendid  specimens  of  old  English  wood 
and  stonework;  and,  within,  the  Board-room  exhibits 
still  a  magnificent  chimney-piece.  The  larger  part  of 
the  building,  however,  has  been  pulled  about  and  fash- 
ioned into  large  wards,  with  oak-beamed  rafters  on  the 
upper  floor,  and  intricate  stairs  and  passages  in  all  di- 
rections. Able-bodied  paupers  and  casuals  were  lodged 
elsewhere  (at  Stapleton  Workhouse)  and  were  not 
admitted  here.  There  were  only  the  sick,  the  aged,  the 
infirm,  the  insane  and  epileptic  patients  and  lying-in 
women. 

Here  are  some  notes  of  the  inmates  of  this  place  by 
Miss  Elliot :  — 

"  1st.  An  old  woman  of  nearly  eighty,  and  as  I 
thought   beyond  power   of  understanding    me.     Once 


282  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

however   when   I   was    saying   < good-bye'   before    an 
absence  of  some  months,  I  was  attracted  by  her  feeble 
efforts  to  catch  my  attention.     She  took  my  hand  and 
gasped  out  'God  bless  you;  you  won't  find  me  when 
you  come  back.     Thank  you  for  coming.'  I  said  most 
truly  that  I  had  never  been  any  good  to  her,  and  how 
sorry  I  was  I  had  never  spoken  to  her.     '  Oh,  but  I  see 
your  face;  it  is  always   a   great   pleasure   and   seems 
bright.     I  was   praying  for   you  last   night.     I   don't 
sleep  much  of  a  night.    I  thank  you  for  coming.'     .     .     . 
2d.  A  woman  between   fifty  and  sixty  dying  of  liver 
disease.     She  had  been  early  left  a  widow,  had  strug- 
gled bravely,  and  reared  her  son  so  well  that  he  became 
foreman  at  one  of  the  first  printing  establishments  in 
the  city.     His  master  gave  us  an  excellent  character  of 
him.     The  poor   mother  unhappily  had   some   illness 
which  long  confined  her  in  another  hospital,  and  when 
she  left  it  her  son  was  dead;  dead  without  her  care  in 
his  last  hours.     The  worn-out  and  broken-down  mother, 
too  weak  and  hopeless  to  work  any  longer,  came  to  her 
last  place  of  refuge  in  the  workhouse.     There,  day  by 
day,  we  found  her  sitting  on  the  side  of  her  bed,  read- 
ing and  trying  to  talk  cheerfully,  but  always  breaking 
down  utterly  when  she  came  to  speak  of  her  son.     3d. 
Opposite  to  her  an  old  woman  of  ninety  lies,  too  weak 
to  sit  up.     One  day,  not  thinking  her  asleep,  I  went  to 
her  bedside.     I  shall  never  forget  the  start  of  joy,  the 
eager  hand,  '  Oh,  Mary,  Mary,  you  are  come !     Is  it  you 
at  last  ? '     '  Ah,  poor  dear,'  said  the  women  round  her, 
'  she  most  always  dreams  of  Mary.     'T  is  her  daughter, 
ladies,  in  London ;  she  has  written  to  her  often,  but 
don't  get  any  answer.'     The  poor  old  woman  made  pro- 
fuse apologies  for  her  mistake,  and  laid  her  head  wea- 
rily on  the  pillow  where  she  had  rested  and  dreamed 
literally  for  years  of  Mary. 

"  4th.  Further  on  is  a  girl  of  sixteen,  paralyzed  hope- 
lessly for  life.     She   had   been   maid-of-all-work   in  a 


THE  SICK  IN   WORKHOUSES.  283 

family  of  twelve,  and  under  her  fearful  drudgery  had 
broken  down  thus  early.  '  Oh,  ma'am,'  she  said  with 
bursts  of  agony,  'I  did  work;  I  was  always  willing  to 
work,  if  God  would  let  me ;  I  did  work  while  I  could, 
but  1  shall  never  get  well ;  Never ! '  Alas,  she  may 
live  as  long  as  the  poor  cripple  who  died  here  last  sum- 
mer, after  lying  forty-six  years  in  the  same  bed,  gazing 
on  the  same  blank,  white  wall.  5th.  The  most  cheer- 
ful woman  in  the  ward  is  one  who  can  never  rise  from 
her  bed ;  but  she  is  a  good  needlewoman,  and  is  con- 
stantly employed  in  making  shrouds.  It  would  seem 
as  if  the  dismal  work  gave  her  an  interest  in  something 
outside  the  ward,  and  she  is  quite  eager  when  the 
demand  for  her  manufacture  is  especially  great ! 

"  In  the  surgical  ward  are  some  eight  or  ten  pa- 
tients :  all  in  painful  diseases.  One  is  a  young  girl 
dying  of  consumption,  complicated  with  the  most  awful 
wounds  on  her  poor  limbs.  '  But  they  don't  hurt  so 
bad,'  she  says,  '  as  any  one  would  think  who  looked  at 
them ;  and  it  will  soon  be  all  over.  I  was  just  thinking 
it  was  four  years  to-day  since  I  was  brought  into  the 
penitentiary  '  (it  was  after  an  attempt  to  drown  herself 
after  a  sad  life  at  Aldershot)  ;  '  and  now  I  have  been 
here  three  years.  God  has  been  very  good  to  me,  and 
brought  me  safe  when  I  did  n  't  deserve  it.'  Over  her 
head  stands  a  print  of  the  Lost  Sheep,  and  she  likes  to 
have  the  parable  read  to  her.  Very  soon  that  sweet, 
fair  young  face,  as  innocent  as  I  have  ever  seen  in  the 
world,  will  bear  no  more  marks  of  pain.  Life's  whole 
tragedy  will  have  been  ended,  and  she  is  only  just 
nineteen ! " 

[  A  few  weeks  later,  on  Easter  Sunday  morning,  when 
the  rising  sun  was  shining  into  the  curtainless  ward, 
the  few  patients  who  were  awake  saw  this  poor  girl, 
who  had  not  been  able  to  raise  herself  or  sit  upright  for 
many  weeks,  suddenly  start  forward,  sitting  straight  up 
in  bed  with  her  arms  lifted  and  an  expression  of  ecstasy 


284  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

on  her  face,  and  something  like  a  cry  of  joy  on  her  lips. 
Then  she  fell  back,  and  all  was  over.  The  incident, 
which  was  in  every  way  striking  and  affecting,  helped 
me  to  recall  the  conviction  (set  forth  in  my  "  Peak  in 
Darien"),  that  the  dying  do,  sometimes,  catch  a  glimpse 
of  blessed  friends  waiting  for  them  on  the  threshold.] 

"  A  little  way  off  lies  a  woman  dying  in  severest 
sufferings  which  have  lasted  long,  and  may  yet  last  for 
weeks.  Such  part  of  her  poor  face  as  may  be  seen 
expresses  almost  angelic  patience  and  submission,  and 
the  little  she  can  say  is  all  of  gratitude  to  God  and 
man.  On  the  box  beside  her  bed  there  stands  usually  a 
cup  with  a  few  flowers,  or  even  leaves  or  weeds  —  some- 
thing to  which,  in  the  midst  of  that  sickening  disease, 
she  can  look  for  beauty.  When  we  bring  her  flowers 
her  pleasure  is  almost  too  affecting  to  witness.  She 
says  she  remembers  when  she  used  to  climb  the  hedge- 
rows to  gather  them  in  the  'beautiful  country.' ' 

Among  the  few  ways  open  to  us  of  relieving  the 
miseries  of  these  sick  wards  and  of  the  parallel  ones  on 
the  other  side  occupied  by  male  sufferers,  were  the  fol- 
lowing :  —  The  introduction  of  a  few  easy-chairs  with 
cushions  for  those  who  could  sit  by  the  fire  in  winter, 
and  whose  thinly -clothed  frames  could  not  bear  the 
benches.  Also  bed-rests,  —  long  knitted  ones,  fastened 
to  the  lower  posts  of  the  bed  and  passed  behind  the 
patient's  back,  so  as  to  form  a  kind  of  sitting  hammock, 
—  very  great  comforts  where  there  is  only  one  small 
bolster  or  pillow  and  the  patient  wants  to  sit  up  in  bed. 
Occasionally  we  gave  little  packets  of  good  tea ;  work- 
house tea  at  that  time  being  almost  too  nauseous  to 
drink.  We  also  brought  pictures  to  hang  on  the  walls. 
These  we  bought  colored  and  cheaply  framed  or  var- 
nished. Their  effect  upon  the  old  women,  especially 
pictures  of  children,  was  startling.  One  poor  soul  who 
had  been  lying  opposite  the  same  blank  wall  for  twenty 
years,  when  I  laid  one  of  the  colored  engravings  on  her 


THE  SICK  IN   WORKHOUSES.  285 

bed  preparatory  to  hanging  it  before  her,  actually  kissed 
the  face  of  the  little  child  in  the  picture,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

Further,  we  brought  a  canary  in  a  cage  to  hang  in  the 
window.  This  seems  an  odd  gift,  but  it  was  so  suc- 
cessful that  I  believe  the  good  visitors  who  came  after 
us  have  maintained  a  series  of  canaries  ever  since  our 
time.  The  common  interest  excited  by  the  bird  brought 
friendliness  and  cheerfulness  among  the  poor  old  souls, 
some  of  whom  had  kept  up  "  a  coolness "  for  years 
while  living  next  to  one  another  on  their  beds  !  The 
sleepless  ones  gloried  in  the  summer-morning-song  of 
Dicky,  and  every  poor  visitor,  daughter  or  grand- 
daughter, was  sure  to  bring  a  handful  of  groundsel  to 
the  general  rejoicing  of  Dicky's  friends.  Of  course,  we 
also  brought  flowers  whenever  we  could  contrive  it;  or 
a  little  summer  fruit  or  winter  apples. 

Lastly,  books,  magazines,  and  simple  papers  of 
various  kinds ;  such  as  "  Household  Words,"  "  Cham- 
bers' Magazine,"  etc.  These  were  eagerly  borrowed  and 
exchanged,  especially  among  the  men.  Nothing  could 
be  more  dreary  than  the  lives  of  those  who  were  not 
actually  suffering  from  any  acute  malady  but  were 
paralyzed  or  otherwise  disabled  from  work.  I  remem- 
ber a  ship-steward  who  had  been  struck  with  hemiplegia, 
and  had  spent  the  savings  of  his  life  time  —  no  less 
than  £800  —  in  futile  efforts  at  cure.  Another  was  a 
once-smart  groom  whom  my  friend  exhorted  to  patience 
aud  thankfulness.  "  Yes,  ma'am,"  he  replied  promptly, 
"  I  will  be  very  thankful  —  when  I  get  out ! " 

As  an  example  of  the  kind  of  way  in  which  every 
sort  of  wretchedness  drains  into  a  workhouse  and  of 
what  need  there  is  for  some  one  to  watch  for  it  there,  I 
may  record  how  we  one  day  perceived  at  the  far  end  of 
a  very  large  ward  a  figure  not  at  all  of  the  normal  work- 
house stamp  —  an  unmistakable  gentleman  —  sitting 
on  the  side  of  his  bed.     With  some  diffidence  we  offered 


286  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

him  the  most  recent  and  least  childish  of  our  literature. 
He  accepted  the  papers  graciously,  and  we  learnt  from 
the  master  that  the  poor  man  had  been  found  on  the 
Downs  a  few  days  before  with  his  throat  cut ;  happily 
not  irreparably.  He  had  come  from  Australia  to 
Europe  to  dispute  some  considerable  property,  and  had 
lost  both  his  lawsuit  and  the  friendship  of  all  his  Eng- 
lish relatives,  and  was  starving,  and  totally  unable  to 
pay  his  passage  back  to  his  wife  and  children  at  the 
Antipodes.  We  got  up  a  little  subscription,  and  the 
good  Ereemasons,  finding  him  to  be  a  brother,  did  the 
rest,  and  sent  him  home  across  the  seas  rejoicing,  and 
with  his  throat  mended  ! 

But  the  cases  of  the  incurable  poor  weighed  heavily 
on  us,  and  as  we  studied  it  more,  we  came  to  see  how 
exceedingly  piteous  is  their  destiny.  We  found  that  it 
is  not  an  accidental  misfortune,  but  a  regular  descent 
down  the  well-worn  channels  of  Poverty,  Disease  and 
Death,  for  men  and  women  to  go  to  one  or  other  of  the 
270  hospitals  for  curable  patients  which  then  existed  in 
England  (there  must  be  many  more  now),  and  after  a 
longer  or  shorter  sojourn,  to  be  pronounced  "  incurable," 
destined  perhaps  to  linger  for  a  year  or  several  years, 
but  to  die  inevitably  from  consumption,  cancer  or 
some  other  of  the  dreadful  maladies  which  afflict  human 
nature.  What  then  becomes  of  them  ?  Their  homes, 
if  they  had  any  before  going  into  the  hospital,  are 
almost  sure  to  be  too  crowded  to  receive  them  back,  or 
too  poor  to  supply  them  with  both  support  and  nursing 
for  months  of  helplessness.  There  is  no  resource  for 
them  but  the  workhouse,  and  there  they  sink  down, 
hopeless  and  miserable ;  the  hospital  comforts  of  good 
beds  and  furniture  and  carefully  prepared  food  and 
skilled  nurses  all  lost,  and  only  the  hard  workhouse 
bed  to  lie,  and  die  upon.  The  burst  of  agony  with 
which  many  a  poor  creature  has  told  me  :  "  I  am  sent 
here  because  I  am  incurable,"  remains  one  of  the  sad- 
dest of  my  memories. 


THE  SICK  IN   WORKHOUSES.  287 

Miss  Elliot's  keen  and  practical  mind  turned  over  the 
problem  of  how  this  misery  could  be  in  some  degree 
alleviated.  There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  get  sufficient 
hospitals  for  incurables  opened  to  meet  the  want. 
There  were  only  two  at  the  time  in  England,  and  they 
received  (as  they  do  now)  a  rather  different  class  from 
those  with  whom  we  are  concerned ;  namely,  the 
deformed  and  permanently  diseased.  At  the  lowest 
rate  of  £30  a  year  it  would  have  needed  £900,000  a 
year  to  house  the  30,000  patients  whom  we  should  have 
wished  to  take  from  the  workhouses.  The  only  possible 
plan  was  to  improve  their  condition  in  the  workhouses ; 
and  this  we  fondly  hoped  might  be  done  (without  bur- 
dening the  ratepayers)  by  our  plan,  which  was  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

That  the  incurables  in  workhouses  should  be  avowedly 
distinguished  from  other  paupers,  and  separate  wards 
be  allowed  to  them.  That  into  those  wards  private 
charity  be  freely  admitted  and  permitted  to  introduce, 
with  the  sanction  of  the  medical  officer,  such  comforts 
as  would  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  the  inmates,  e.g., 
good  spring  beds,  or  air  beds  ;  easy-chairs,  air-cushions, 
small  refreshments  such  as  good  tea  and  lemons  and 
oranges  (often  an  immense  boon  to  the  sick) ;  also 
snuff,  cough  lozenges,  spectacles,  flowers  in  the  window, 
books  and  papers ;  and,  above  all,  kindly  visitors. 

The  plan  was  approved  by  a  great  many  experienced 
men  and  women  ;  and,  as  it  would  not  have  added  a 
shilling  anywhere  to  the  rates,  we  were  very  hopeful 
that  it  might  be  generally  adopted.  Several  pamphlets 
which  we  wrote,  "The  Workhouse  as  a  Hospital," 
"  Destitute  Incurables,"  and  the  "  Sick  in  Workhouses," 
and  "  Remarks  on  Incurables,"  were  widely  circulated. 
The  newspapers  were  very  kind,  and  leaders  or  letters 
giving  us  a  helping  hand  were  inserted  in  nearly  all, 
except  the  Saturday  Review,  which  refused  even  one 
of  its  own  regular  contributors'  requests  to  introduce  the 


288  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

subject.  I  wrote  an  article  called  "Workhouse 
Sketches "  for  Macmillan's  Magazine,  dealing  with 
the  whole  subject,  and  begged  that  it  might  be  in- 
serted gratuitously.  To  my  delight  the  editor,  Mr. 
Masson,  wrote  to  me  the  following  kind  letter  which  I 
have  kept  among  my  pleasant  souvenirs  :  — 

23|  Henrietta  Street,  Covent  Garden, 

February  18th,  1861. 

Dear  Madam, — As  soon  as  possible  in  this  part  of 
the  month,  when  there  is  much  to  do  with  the  forth- 
coming number,  I  have  read  your  paper.  Having  an 
almost  countless  number  of  MSS.  in  hand,  I  greatly 
feared  I  might,  though  very  reluctantly,  be  compelled 
to  return  it,  but  the  reading  of  it  has  so  convinced  me 
of  the  great  importance  of  arousing  interest  in  the  sub- 
ject, and  the  paper  itself  is  so  touching,  that  I  think  I 
ought,  with  whatever  difficulty,  to  find  a  place  for 
it.     .     .     . 

In  any  case  accept  my  best  thanks  for  the  oppor- 
tunity of  reading  so  admirable  and  powerful  an  experi- 
ence ;  and  allow  me  to  express  my  regret  that  I  had  not 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at  Mrs.  Reid's. 

I  am,  dear  Madam, 

Yours  very  truly, 

David  Masson. 
Miss  Frances  Power  Cobbe. 

Should  you  object  to  your  name  appearing  in  con- 
nection with  this  paper  ?     It  is  our  usual  practice. 

The  paper  appeared  and  soon  after,  to  my  equal  aston- 
ishment and  delight,  came  a  cheque  for  £14.  It  was  the 
first  money  I  had  ever  earned  and  when  I  had  cashed 
the  cheque  I  held  the  sovereigns  in  my  hand  and  tossed 
them  with  a  sense  of  pride  and  satisfaction  which  the 
gold  of  the  Indies,  if  gained  by  inheritance,  would  not 
have  given  me  !  Naturally  I  went  down  straight  to  St. 
Peter's  and  gave  the  poor  old  souls  such  a  tea  as  had 


THE  SICK  IN   WOREIIOUSES.  289 

not  been  known  before  in  the  memory  of  the  "  oldest 
inhabitant." 

We  also  printed,  and  ourselves  directed  and  posted 
circulars  to  the  six  hundred  and  sixty-six  Unions  which 
then  existed  in  England.  We  received  a  great  many 
friendly  letters  in  reply,  and  promises  of  help  from 
Guardians  in  carrying  out  our  plan.  A  certain  number 
of  Unions,  I  think  fifteen,  actually  adopted  it  and  set  it 
going.  We  also  induced  the  social  science  people,  then 
very  active  and  influential,  to-  take  it  up,  and  papers  on 
it  were  read  at  the  Congresses  in  Glasgow  and  Dublin ; 
the  latter  by  myself.  The  Hon.  Sec.  (then  the  young 
poetess  Isa  Craig)  wrote  to  me  as  follows  :  — 

National  Association 
For  the  Promotion  of  Social  Science, 

3,  Waterloo  Place,  Pall  Mall, 

28th  December,  1860. 

Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  The  case  of  the  poor  "  incura- 
bles "  is  truly  heartrending.  I  cried  over  the  proof  of 
your  paper  —  a  queer  proceeding  on  the  part  of  the  sub- 
editor of  the  "  Social  Science  Transactions,"  but  I  hope 
an  earnest  of  the  sympathy  your  noble  appeal  shall 
meet  with  wherever  our  volume  goes,  setting  in  action 
the  roused  sense  of  humanity  and  justice  to  remedy  such 
bitter  wrong  and  misery. 

Yours  sincerely, 

Isa  Craig. 

A  weightier  testimony  was  that  of  the  late  Master  of 
Balliol.  The  following  letters  from  him  on  the  subject 
are,  I  think,  very  characteristic  and  charming  :  — 

Coll.  de  Ball.,  Oxon. 
Hawhead,  near  Selkirk,  September  24th. 

Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you 
for  sending  me  the  extract  from  the  newspaper  which 
contains  the  plan  for  destitute  incurables.  I  entirely 
agree  in  the  object  and  greatly  like  the  touching  and 
ample  manner  in  which  you  have  described  it. 


290  FEANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

The  only  thing  that  occurs  to  me  in  passing  is  whether 
the  system  of  outdoor  relief  to  incurables  should  not 
also  be  extended  ?  Many  would  still  require  to  be  re- 
ceived into  the  house  (I  do  not  wish  in  any  degree  to 
take  away  from  the  poor  the  obligation  to  support  their 
incurables  outdoors,  and  it  is,  perhaps,  better  to  trust 
to  the  natural  human  pity  of  a  cottage  than  to  the  better 
attendance,  warmth,  etc.,  of  a  workhouse).  But  I  dare- 
say you  are  right  in  sticking  to  a  simple  point. 

All  the  world  seems  to  be  divided  into  Political  Econ- 
omists, Poor  Law  Commissioners,  Guardians,  Policemen, 
and  Philanthropists,  Enthusiasts,  and  Christian  Social- 
ists. Is  there  not  a  large  intermediate  ground  which 
any  one  who  can  write  might  occupy,  and  who  could  com- 
bine a  real  knowledge  of  the  problems  to  be  solved  with 
the  enthusiasm  which  impels  a  person  to  devote  their 
life  to  solving  them  ? 

The  way  would  be  to  hide  the  philanthropy  altogether 
as  a  weakness  of  the  flesh ;  and  sensible  people  would 
then  be  willing  to  listen. 

I  entirely  like  the  plan  and  wish  it  success.     .     .     . 

I  am  afraid  that  I  am  not  likely  to  have  an  opportu- 
nity of  making  the  scheme  known.  But  if  you  have  any 
other  objects  in  which  I  can  help  you  I  shall  think  it  a 
great  pleasure  to  do  so. 

Remember  me  most  kindly  to  the  Dean  and  his  daugh- 
ters. I  thought  they  were  not  going  to  banish  them- 
selves to  Cannes.  Wherever  they  are  I  cannot  easily 
forget  them. 

I  hope  you  enjoy  Garibaldi's  success.  It  is  one  of 
the  very  few  public  events  that  seem  to  make  life 
happier. 

Believe  me,  with  sincere  respect, 

Yours  truly, 

B.  JOWETT. 


THE  SICK  IN    WORKHOUSES.  291 

Coll.  de  Ball.,  Oxon. 

Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  I  write  a  line  to  thank  you  for 
the  little  pamphlet  you  have  sent  me  which  I  read  and 
like  very  much. 

There  is  no  end  of  good  that  you  may  do  by  writing 
in  that  simple  and  touching  style  upon  social  questions. 

But  don't  go  to  war  with  Political  Economy.  First. 
Because  the  P.  E.'s  are  a  powerful  and  dangerous  class. 
Second.  Because  it  is  impossible  for  ladies  and  gentle- 
men to  fill  up  the  interstices  of  legislation  if  they  run 
counter  to  the  common  motives  of  self-interest.  Third. 
(You  won't  agree  to  this)  Because  the  P.  E.'s  have  really 
done  more  for  the  laboring  classes  by  their  advocacy 
of  free  trade,  etc.,  than  all  the  Philanthropists  put 
together. 

I  wish  that  it  were  possible  as  a  matter  of  taste  to  get 
rid  of  all  philanthropic  expressions,  "  missions,  etc.,  " 
which  are  distasteful  to  the  educated.  But  I  suppose 
they  are  necessary  for  the  collection  of  money.  And 
no  doubt  as  a  matter  of  taste  there  is  a  good  deal  that 
might  be  corrected  in  the  Political  Economists. 

The  light  of  the  feelings  never  teaches  the  best  way 
of  dealing  with  the  world  en  masse  and  the  dry  light 
never  finds  its  way  to  the  heart  either  of  man  or  beast. 

You  see  I  want  all  the  humanities  combined  with  Po- 
litical Economy.  Perhaps,  it  may  be  replied  that  such 
a  combination  is  not  possible  in  human  nature. 

Excuse  my  speculations  and  believe  me  in  haste, 

Yours  very  truly, 

B.  JOWETT. 

About  the  same  time  that  we  began  to  visit  the  Bris- 
tol workhouse,  Miss  Louisa  Twining  bravely  undertook 
a  systematic  reform  of  the  whole  system  throughout  the 
country.  It  was  an  enormous  task,  but  she  had  great 
energy,  and  a  fund  of  good  sense  ;  and  with  the  support 
of  Lord  Mount-Temple  (then   Hon.    William   Cowper- 


292  FR.LNCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Temple),  Mrs.  Tait,  and  several  other  excellent  and  in- 
fluential persons,  she  carried  out  a  grand  reformation 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.  Her 
Workhouse  Visiting  Society,  and  the  monthly  "Jour- 
nal "  she  edited  as  its  organ,  brought  by  degrees  good 
sense  and  good  feeling  quietly  and  unostentatiously  to 
bear  on  the  Boards  of  Guardians  and  their  officials  all 
over  the  country,  and  one  abuse  after  another  was  dis- 
closed, discussed,  condemned,  and  finally,  in  most  cases 
abolished.  I  went  up  for  a  short  visit  to  London  at 
one  time  on  purpose  to  learn  all  I  could  from  General 
Twining  (as  I  used  to  call  her),  and  then  returned  to 
Bristol.  I  have  been  gratified  to  read  in  her  charming 
"  Recollections,"  published  last  year  (1893),  that  in  her 
well-qualified  judgment  Miss  Elliot's  work  and  mine 
was  really  the  beginning  of  much  that  has  subsequently 
been  done  for  the  sick  and  for  workhouse  girls.  She 
says  : 

"  In  1861 1  began  the  consideration  of  '  Destitute 
Incurables,'  which  was  in  its  results  to  bring  forth 
such  a  complete  reform  in  the  care  of  the  sick  in  work- 
houses, or  at  least  I  am  surely  justified  in  considering 
it  one  of  the  good  seeds  sown,  which  brought  forth 
fruit  in  due  season.  One  of  the  first  to  press  the  claims 
of  these  helpless  ones  on  the  notice  of  the  public,  who 
were,  almost  universally,  utterly  ignorant  of  their  exist- 
ence and  their  needs,  was  Frances  Power  Cobbe,  who 
was  then  introduced  to  me  ;  she  lived  near  Bristol,  and 
with  her  friend  Miss  Elliot,  also  of  that  place,  had  long 
visited  the  workhouse,  and  become  acquainted  with  the 
inmates,  helping  more  especially  the  school  children, 
and  befriending  the  girls  after  they  went  to  service. 
This  may  be  said  to  be  one  of  the  first  beginnings  of 
all  those  efforts  now  so  largely  developed  by  more  than 
one  society  expressly  for  this  object. 

"  I  accompanied  Miss  Cobbe  to  the  St.  Giles'  Schools 

1  Miss  Elliot  and  I  had  begun  it  a  year  sooner,  as  stated  above. 


THE  SICK  IN    WORKHOUSES.  293 

and  to  the  Strand,  West  London,  and  Holborn  Unions, 
and  to  the  Hospital  for  Incurables  at  Putney,  in  aid  of 
her  plans."  —  "  Recollections,"  p.  170. 

While  our  plan  for  the  incurables  was  still  in  prog- 
ress, I  was  obliged  to  spend  a  winter  in  Italy  for  my 
health,  and  on  my  way  I  went  over  the  Hotel  Dieu  and 
the  Salpetriere  in  Paris,  and  several  hospitals  in  Italy, 
to  learn  how  best  to  treat  this  class  of  sufferers.  I  did 
not  gain  much.  There  were  no  arrangements  that  I 
noticed  as  better  or  more  humane  than  our  own,  and  in 
many  cases  they  seemed  to  be  worse.  In  particular  the 
proximity  of  infectious  with  other  cases  in  the  Hotel 
Dieu  was  a  great  evil.  I  was  examining  the  bed  of  a 
poor  victim  of  rheumatism  when,  on  looking  a  few  feet 
across  the  floor,  I  beheld  the  most  awful  case  of  small- 
pox which  could  be  conceived.  Both  in  Paris,  Florence, 
and  the  great  San-Spirito  Hospital  in  Rome,  the  nurses, 
who  in  those  days  all  were  Sisters  of  Charity,  seemed 
to  me  very  heartless ;  proud  of  their  tidy  cupboards 
full  of  lint  and  bandages,  but  very  indifferent  to  their 
patients.  Walking  a  little  in  advance  of  one  of  them 
in  Florence,  I  came  into  a  ward  where  a  poor  woman 
was  lying  in  a  bed  behind  the  door,  in  the  last "  agony." 
A  label  at  the  foot  of  her  bed  bore  the  inscription 
"  Olio  Santo,''''  showing  that  her  condition  had  been  ob- 
served —  yet  there  was  no  friendly  breast  on  which  the 
poor  creature's  head  could  rest,  no  hand  to  wipe  the 
deathsweats  from  her  face.  I  called  hastily  to  the  nun 
for  help,  but  she  replied  with  great  coolness,  "  Ci  vuole 
del  cotone ! "  and  seemed  astonished  when  I  used  my 
own  handkerchief.  In  San-Spirito  the  doctor  who  con- 
ducted me,  and  who  was  personally  known  to  me,  told 
me  he  would  rather  have  our  English  pauper  nurses 
than  the  Sisters.  This,  however,  may  have  been  a 
choice  grounded  on  other  reasons  beside  humanity  to 
the  patients.  At  the  terrible  hospital  "degli  Incura- 
bili,"  in  the  via  de'  Greci,  Rome,  I  saw  fearful  cases  of 


294  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

disease  (cancer,  etc.,)  receiving  so  little  comfort  in  the 
way  of  diet  that  the  wretched  creatures  rose  all  down 
the  wards,  literally  screaming  to  me  for  money  to  buy 
food,  coffee,  and  so  on.  I  asked  the  Sister,  "  Had  they 
no  lady  visitors  ?  "  "  Oh,  yes !  there  was  the  Princess 
So-and-so,  and  the  Countess  So-and-so,  saintly  ladies, 
who  came  once  a  week  or  once  a  month."  "Then  do 
they  not  provide  the  things  these  poor  souls  want  ?  " 
"  No,  Signora,  they  don't  do  that."  "  Then,  in  Heaven's 
name,  what  do  they  come  to  do  for  them  ?  "  It  was 
some  moments  before  I  could  be  made  to  understand, 
"  Per pettinarle  Signora  !  "  —  To  comb  their  hair  !  The 
task  was  so  disgusting  that  the  great  ladies  came  on 
purpose  to  perform  it  as  a  work  of  merit ;  for  the  good 
of  their  own  souls  ! 

The  saddest  sight  which  I  ever  beheld,  however,  I 
think  was  not  in  these  Italian  hospitals,  but  in  the 
Salpetriere,  in  Paris.  As  I  was  going  round  the  wards 
with  a  Sister,  I  noticed  on  a  bed  opposite  us  a  very 
handsome  woman  lying  with  her  head  a  little  raised 
and  her  marble  neck  somewhat  exposed,  while  her  arms 
lay  rigidly  on  each  side  out  of  the  bed-clothes.  "  What 
is  the  matter  with  that  patient  ?  "  I  asked.  Before  the 
nun  could  tell  me  that  (except  in  her  head)  she  was 
completely  paralyzed,  there  came  in  response  to  me  an 
unearthly,  inarticulate  cry  like  that  of  an  animal  in 
agony  ;  and  I  understood  that  the  hapless  creature  was 
trying  to  call  me.  I  went  and  stood  over  her  and  her 
eyes  burnt  into  mine  with  the  hungry  eagerness  of  a 
woman  famishing  for  sympathy  and  comfort  in  her 
awful  affliction.  She  was  a  living  statue  ;  unable  even 
to  speak,  much  less  to  move  hand  or  foot ;  yet  still 
young ;  not  over  thirty  I  should  think,  and  likely  to 
live  for  years  on  that  bed  !  The  horror  of  her  fate  and 
the  piteousness  of  the  appeal  in  her  eyes,  and  her  inar- 
ticulate moans  and  cries,  completely  broke  me  down. 
I  poured  out  all  I  could  think  of  to  say  to  comfort  her, 


THE  SICK  IN   WORKHOUSES.  295 

of  prayer  and  patience  and  eternal  hope ;  and  at  last 
was  releasing  her  hand  which  I  had  been  holding,  and 
on  which  my  tears  had  been  falling  fast  —  when  I  felt 
a  thrill  run  down  her  poor  stiffened  arm.  It  was  the 
uttermost  effort  she  could  make,  striving  with  all  her 
might  to  return  my  pressure. 

In  recent  years  I  have  heard  of  "scientific  experi- 
ments "  conducted  by  the  late  Dr.  Charcot  and  a  coterie 
of  medical  men,  upon  the  patients  of  the  Salpetriere. 
When  I  have  read  of  these,  I  have  thought  of  that 
paralyzed  woman  with  dread  lest  she  might  be  yet  alive 
to  suffer ;  and  with  indignation  against  the  science 
which  counts  cases  like  these  of  uttermost  human  afflic- 
tion, "  interesting"  subjects  for  investigation  ! 

Some  years  after  this  time,  hearing  of  the  great  Asy- 
lum designed  by  Mr.  Holloway,  I  made  an  effort  to 
bring  influence  from  many  quarters  to  bear  on  him  to 
induce  him  to  change  its  destination  at  that  early  stage, 
and  make  it  the  much-needed  Home  for  Incurables. 
Many  ladies  and  gentlemen  whose  names  I  hoped  would 
carry  weight  with  him,  were  kindly  willing  to  write  to 
him  on  the  subject.  Among  them  was  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Monsell,  then  Lady  Superior  of  Clewer.  Her  letter  to 
me  on  the  subject  was  so  wise  that  I  have  preserved  it. 
Mr.  Holloway,  however,  was  inexorable.  Would  to 
Heaven  that  some  other  millionaire,  instead  of  spend- 
ing tens  of  thousands  on  palaces  of  delight  and  places 
of  public  amusement,  would  take  to  heart  the  case  of 
those  most  wretched  of  human  beings,  the  destitute 
incurables,  who  are  still  sent  every  year  by  thousands 
to  die  in  the  workhouses  of  England  and  Ireland  with 
scarcely  one  of  the  comforts  which  their  miserable  con- 
dition demands. 

House  of  Mercy,  Clewer,  Windsor. 
Madam,  —  I  have  read  your  letter  with  much  interest, 
and  have  at  once  forwarded  it  to  Mrs.  Wellesley,  asking 


296  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

her  to  show  it  to  Princess  Christian,  and  also  to  speak 
to  Mrs.  Gladstone. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  a  large  sum  of  money  would  be 
better  expended  on  an  Incurable  than  on  a  Convalescent 
Hospital.  It  would  be  wiser  not  to  congregate  so  many 
convalescents.  For  incurables,  under  good  management 
and  liberal  Christian  teaching,  it  would  not  signify  how 
many  were  gathered  together,  provided  the  space  were 
large  enough  for  the  work. 

By  "  liberal  Christian  teaching  "  I  mean,  that,  while 
I  presume  Mr.  Holloway  would  make  it  a  Church  of 
England  institution,  Roman  Catholics  ought  to  have  the 
comfort  of  free  access  from  their  own  teachers. 

An  Incurable  Hospital  without  the  religious  ele- 
ment fairly  represented,  and  the  blessing  which  Reli- 
gion brings  to  each  individually,  would  be  a  miserable 
desolation.  But  there  should  be  the  most  entire  free- 
dom of  conscience  allowed  to  each,  in  what,  if  that 
great  sum  were  expended,  must  become  a  National 
institution. 

I  earnestly  hope  Mr.  Holloway  will  take  the  sub- 
ject of  the  needs  of  incurables  into  consideration.  In 
our  own  Hospital,  at  St.  Andrew's,  and  St.  Raphael's, 
Torquay,  we  shrink  from  turning  out  our  dying  cases, 
and  yet  it  does  not  do  to  let  them  die  in  the  wards  with 
convalescent  patients.  Few  can  estimate  the  misery  of 
the  incurable  cases ;  and  the  expense  connected  with 
the  nursing  is  so  great,  it  is  not  easy  for  private  benevo- 
lence to  provide  Incurable  Hospitals  on  a  small  scale. 
Besides,  they  need  room  for  classification.  The  truth  is, 
an  Incurable  Hospital  is  a  far  more  difficult  machine  to 
work  than  a  Convalescent;  and  so  the  work,  if  well 
done,  would  be  far  nobler. 

Believe  me,  Madam, 

Yours  faithfully, 

H.  MONSELL. 

June  23d,  1874. 


THE  SICK  IN   WORKIIOUSES.  297 

In  concluding  these  observations  generally  on  the 
"  Sick  in  Workhouses  "  I  should  like  to  offer  to  humane 
visitors  one  definite  result  of  my  own  experience.  "  Do 
not  imagine  that  what  will  best  cheer  the  poor  souls 
will  be  your  conversation,  however  well  designed  to 
entertain  or  instruct  them.  That  which  will  really 
brighten  their  dreary  lives  is,  to  be  made  to  talk  them- 
selves, and  to  enjoy  the  privilege  of  a  good  listener. 
Draw  them  out  about  their  old  homes  in  '  the  beautiful 
country,'  as  they  always  call  it;  or  in  whatever  town 
sheltered  them  in  childhood.  Ask  about  their  fathers 
and  mothers,  brothers  and  sisters,  everything  connected 
with  their  early  lives,  and  tell  them  if  possible  any  late 
news  about  the  place  and  people  connected  therewith 
by  ever  so  slight  a  thread.  But  before  all  things  make 
them  talk  ;  and  show  yourself  interested  in  what  they 
say." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WORKHOUSE    GIRLS,     BRISTOL. 

Beside  the  poor  sick  and  aged  people  in  the  work- 
house, the  attention  of  Miss  Elliot  and  myself  was 
much  drawn  to  the  girls  who  were  sent  out  from  thence 
to  service  on  attaining  (about)  their  sixteenth  year. 
On  all  hands,  and  notably  from  Miss  Twining  and  from 
some  excellent  Irish  philanthropists,  we  heard  the  most 
deplorable  reports  of  the  incompetence  of  the  poor  chil- 
dren to  perform  the  simplest  duties  of  domestic  life, 
and  their  consequent  dismissal  from  one  place  after  an- 
other till  they  ended  in  ruin.  It  was  stated  at  the  time 
(1862),  on  good  authority,  that,  on  tracing  the  subse- 
quent history  of  eighty  girls  who  had  been  brought  up 
in  a  single  London  workhouse,  every  one  was  found  to 
be  on  the  streets  !  In  short  these  hapless  "  children  of 
the  State,"  as  my  friend  Miss  Florence  Davenport  Hill 
most  properly  named  them,  seemed  at  that  time  as  if 
they  were  being  trained  on  purpose  to  fall  into  a  life  of 
sin  ;  having  nothing  to  keep  them  out  of  it, —  no  friends, 
no  affections,  no  homes,  no  training  for  any  kind  of  use- 
ful labor,  no  habits  of  self-control  or  self-guidance. 

It  was  never  realized  by  the  men  (who,  in  those  days, 
alone  managed  our  pauper  system)  that  girls  cannot  be 
trained  en  masse  to  be  general  servants,  nurses,  cooks, 
or  anything  else.  The  strict  routine,  the  vast  half-fur- 
nished wards,  the  huge  utensils  and  furnaces  of  a  large 
workhouse,  have  too  little  in  common  with  the  ways  of 
family  life  and  the  furniture  of  a  common  kitchen  to 
furnish   any  sort   of   practising  ground  for  household 


WORKHOUSE  GIRLS.  299 

vice.  The  Report  of  the  Royal  Commission  on  Educa- 
tion, issued  about  that  time,  concluded  that  workhouse 
schools  leave  the  pauper  taint  on  the  children,  but 
"  that  District  and  separate  schools  give  an  education 
to  the  children  contained  in  them  which  effectually 
tends  to  emancipate  them  from  pauperism."  Accord- 
ingly the  vast  District  schools,  containing  each  the  chil- 
dren from  many  Unions,  were  then  in  full  blast,  and 
the  girls  were  taught  extremely  well  to  read,  write  and 
cipher ;  but  were  neither  taught  to  cook  for  any  ordi- 
nary household,  or  to  scour,  or  sweep,  or  nurse,  or  serve 
the  humblest  table.  What  was  far  more  deplorable, 
they  were  not,  and  could  not  be,  taught  to  love  or  trust 
any  human  being,  since  no  one  loved  or  cared  for  them ; 
or  to  exercise  even  so  much  self-control  as  should  help 
them  to  forbear  from  stealing  lumps  of  sugar  out  of 
the  first  bowl  left  in  their  way.  "  But,"  we  may  be  told, 
"  they  received  excellent  religious  instruction  !  "  Let 
any  one  try  to  realize  the  idea  of  God  which  any  child 
can  possibly  reach  who  has  never  been  loved;  and  he 
will  then  perhaps  rightly  estimate  the  value  of  such  "  re- 
ligious instruction  "  in  a  dreary  pauper  school.  I  have 
never  quite  seen  the  force  of  the  argument,  "  If  a  man 
love  not  his  neighbor  whom  he  hath  seen,  how  shall  he 
love  God  whom  he  hath  not  seen  ?  "  But  the  converse 
is  very  clear.  "  If  a  man  hath  not  been  beloved  by  his 
neighbor  or  his  parents,  how  shall  he  believe  in  the  Love 
of  the  invisible  God  ? "  Religion  is  a  plant  which 
grows  and  nourishes  in  an  atmosphere  of  a  certain 
degree  of  warmth  and  softness,  but  not  in  the  Frozen 
Zone  of  lovelessness,  wherein  is  no  sweetness,  no 
beauty,  no  tenderness. 

How  to  prevent  the  girls  who  left  Bristol  Workhouse 
from  falling  into  the  same  gulf  as  the  unhappy  ones  in 
London,  occupied  very  much  the  thoughts  of  Miss 
Elliot  and  her  sister  (afterwards  Mrs.  Montague 
Blackett)  and  myself,  in  1859  and  1860-61.    Our  friend, 


300  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Miss  Sarah  Stephen  (daughter  of  Serjeant  Stephen, 
niece  of  Sir  James),  then  residing  in  Clifton,  had  for 
some  time  been  working  successfully  a  Preventive  Mis- 
sion for  the  poorer  class  of  girls  in  Bristol ;  with  a  good 
motherly  old  woman  as  her  agent  to  look  after  them. 
This  naturally  helped  us  to  an  idea  which  developed 
itself  into  the  following  plan  :  — 

Miss  Elliot  and  her  sister,  as  I  have  said,  resided  at 
that  time  with  their  father  at  the  old  Bristol  Deanery, 
close  to  the  Cathedral  in  College  Green.  This  house 
was  known  to  every  one  in  the  city,  which  was  a  great 
advantage  at  starting.  A  Sunday  afternoon  school  for 
workhouse  girls  only,  was  opened  by  the  two  kind  and 
wise  sisters;  and  soon  frequented  by  a  happy  little 
class.  The  first  step  in  each  case  (which  eventually 
fell  chiefly  to  my  share  of  the  business)  was  to  receive 
notice  from  the  workhouse  of  the  address  of  every  girl 
when  sent  out  to  her  first  service,  and  thereupon  to  go 
at  once  and  call  on  her  new  mistress,  and  ask  her 
permission  for  the  little  servant's  attendance  at  the 
Deanery  class.  As  Miss  Elliot  wrote  most  truly,  in 
speaking  of  the  need  of  haste  in  this  preliminary 
visit :  — 

"  There  are  few  times  in  a  girl's  life  when  kindness 
is  more  valued  by  her,  or  more  necessary  to  her,  than 
when  she  is  taken  from  the  shelter  and  routine  of 
school  life  and  plunged  suddenly  and  alone  into  a  new 
struggling  world  full  of  temptations  and  trials.  That 
this  is  the  turning  point  in  the  life  of  many  I  feel 
confident,  and  I  think  delay  in  beginning  friendly 
intercourse  most  dangerous ;  they,  like  other  human 
beings,  will  seek  friends  of  some  kind.  We  found 
them  very  ready  to  take  good  ones  if  the  chance  were 
offered,  and,  as  it  seemed,  grateful  for  such  chance.  But 
good  failing  them,  they  will  most  assuredly  find  bad 
ones."  —  "  Workhouse  Girls."  Notes  by  M.  Elliot,  p.  7. 
As  a  rule  the  mistresses,  who  were  all  of  the  humbler 


WORKHOUSE  GIRLS.  301 

sort  and  of  course  persons  of  good  reputation,  seemed 
to  welcome  my  rather  intrusive  visit  and  questions, 
which  were,  of  course,  made  with  every  possible  cour- 
tesy. A  little  by-play  about  the  insufficient  outfit 
given  by  the  workhouse,  and  an  offer  of  small  addi- 
tional adornments  for  Sundays,  was  generally  well 
received;  and  the  happy  fact  of  having  such  an  osten- 
sibly and  unmistakably  respectable  address  for  the 
Sunday  school,  secured  many  assents  which  might 
otherwise  have  been  denied.  The  mistresses  were  gen- 
erally in  a  state  of  chronic  vexation  at  their  little 
servants'  stupidity  and  incompetence ;  and  on  this  head 
I  could  produce  great  effect  by  inveighing  against  the 
useless  workhouse  education.  There  was  often  diffi- 
culty in  getting  leave  of  absence  for  the  girls  on  Sun- 
day afternoon,  but  with  the  patience  and  good  humor 
of  the  teachers  (who  gave  their  lessons  to  as  many  or 
as  few  as  came  to  them),  there  was  always  something 
of  a  class,  and  the  poor  girls  themselves  were  most 
eager  to  lose  no  chance  of  attending. 

A  little  reading  of  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  and  other 
good  books  ;  more  explanations  and  talk ;  much  hymn 
singing  and  repeating  of  hymns  learned  during  the 
week  ;  and  a  penny  banking  account,  —  such  were  some 
of  the  devices  of  the  kind  teachers  to  reach  the  hearts 
of  their  little  pupils.  And  very  effectually  they  did 
so,  as  the  thirty  letters  which  they  wrote  between 
them  to  Miss  Elliot  when  she,  or  they,  left  Bristol, 
testified.  Here  is  one  of  these  epistles ;  surely  a 
model  of  prudence  and  candor  on  the  occasion  of 
the  approaching  marriage  of  the  writer !  The  back- 
handed compliment  to  the  looks  of  her  betrothed  is 
specially  delightful. 

"  You  pointed  out  one  thing  in  your  kind  letter,  that 
to  be  sure  that  the  young  man  was  steady.  I  have 
been  with  him  now  two  years,  and  I  hope  I  know  his 
failings ;  and  I  can  say  I  have  never  known  any  one  so 


302  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

steady  and  trustworthy  as  he  is.  I  might  have  bet- 
tered myself  as  regards  the  outside  looks ;  but,  dear 
Madam,  I  think  of  the  future,  and  what  my  home 
would  be  then ;  and  perhaps  if  I  married  a  gay  man, 
I  should  always  be  unhappy.  But  John  has  a  kind 
heart,  and  all  he  thinks  of  is  to  make  others  happy ; 
and  I  hope  I  shall  never  have  a  cause  to  regret  my 
choice,  and  I  will  try  and  do  my  best  to  do  my 
duty,  so  that  one  day  you  may  see  me  comfortable. 
Dear  Madam,  I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for  your 
kindness  to  me." 

The  whole  experiment  was  marvellously  successful. 
Nearly  all  the  poor  children  seemed  to  have  been  im- 
proved in  various  ways  as  well  as  certainly  made  happier 
by  their  Sundays  at  the  Deanery,  and  not  one  of  them, 
I  believe,  turned  out  ill  afterwards  or  fell  into  any 
serious  trouble.  Many  of  them  married  respectably. 
In  short  it  proved  to  be  a  good  plan,  which  we  have  had 
no  hesitation  in  recommending  ever  since.  Eventually 
it  was  taken  up  by  humane  ladies  in  London,  and 
there  it  slowly  developed  into  the  now  imposing  society 
with  the  long  name  (commonly  abbreviated  into 
M.  A.  B.  Y.  S.)  the  Metropolitan  Association  for 
Befriending  Young  Servants.  Two  or  three  years  ago, 
when  I  attended  and  spoke  at  the  annual  meeting  of 
this  large  body,  with  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London  in  the 
chair  and  a  Bishop  to  address  us,  it  seemed  very  aston- 
ishing and  delightful  to  Miss  Elliot  and  me  that  our 
small  beginnings  of  thirty  years  before  should  have 
swelled  to  such  an  assembly  ! 

My  experience  of  the  wrongs  and  perils  of  young 
servant  girls,  acquired  during  my  work  as  whipper-in 
to  the  Deanery  class,  remains  a  painful  memory,  and 
supplies  strong  arguments  in  favor  of  extending  some 
such  protection  to  such  girls  generally.  Some  cases  of 
oppression  and  injustice  on  the  part  of  mistresses 
(themselves,  no  doubt,  poor  and  overstrained,  and  not 


WORKHOUSE  GIRLS.  303 

unnaturally  exasperated  by  their  poor  little  slave's 
incompetence)  were  very  cruel.  I  heard  of  one  case 
which  had  occurred  just  before  we  began  our  work, 
wherein  the  girl  had  been  left  in  charge  of  a  small 
shop.  A  man  came  in  out  of  the  street,  and  seeing 
only  this  helpless  child  of  fifteen  behind  the  coun- 
ter, laid  hands  on  something  (worth  sixpence  as  it 
proved)  and  walked  off  with  it  without  payment. 
When  the  mistress  returned  the  girl  told  her  what 
had  happened,  whereupon  she  and  her  husband  stormed 
and  scolded  ;  and  eventually  turned  the  girl  out  of  the 
house  !  This  was  at  nine  o'clock  at  night,  in  one  of 
the  lowest  parts  of  Bristol,  and  the  unhappy  girl  had 
not  a  shilling  in  her  possession.  A  murder  would 
scarcely  have  been  more  wicked. 

Sometimes  the  mistresses  sent  their  servants  away 
without  paying  them  any  wages  at  all,  making  up  .their 
accounts  in  a  style  like  this :  "  I  owe  you  five  and  six- 
pence ;  but  you  broke  my  teapot,  which  was  worth 
three  shillings  ;  and  you  burnt  a  table  cover  worth  two, 
and  broke  two  plates  and  a  saucer,  and  lost  a  spoon, 
and  I  gave  you  an  old  pair  of  boots,  worth  at  least 
eighteenpence,  so  you  owe  me  half  a  crown  ;  and  if  you 
don't  go  away  quietly  I  '11  call  the  police  and  give  you 
in  charge  ! "  The  mere  name  of  the  police  would  inev- 
itably terrify  the  poor  little  drudge  into  submission  to 
her  oppressor.  That  the  law  could  ever  defend  and 
not  punish  her  would  be  quite  outside  her  comprehen- 
sion. 

The  wretched  holes  under  stairs,  or  in  cellars,  or 
garrets,  where  these  girls  were  made  to  sleep,  were 
often  most  unhealthy  ;  and  their  exposure  to  cold,  with 
only  the  thin  workhouse  cotton  frock,  leaving  arms 
and  neck  bare,  was  cruel  in  winter.  One  day  I  had 
an  example  of  this,  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  I  had 
just  received  notice  that  a  girl  of  sixteen  had  been 
sent  from  the  workhouse  (Bristol  or  Clifton,  I  forget 


304  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

which)  to  a  place  in  St.  Philip's,  at  the  far  end  of 
Bristol.  It  was  a  snowy  day,  but  I  walked  to  the 
place  with  the  same  odd  conviction  over  me  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  that  I  was  bound  to  go  at  once.  When 
I  reached  the  house,  I  found  it  was  one  a  little  above 
the  usual  class  for  workhouse-girl  servants  and  had 
an  area.  The  snow  was  falling  fast,  and  as  I  knocked 
I  looked  down  into  the  area  and  saw  a  girl  in  her 
cotton  dress  standing  out  at  a  wash-tub,  —  head,  neck, 
and  arms  all  bare,  and  the  snow  falling  on  them  with 
the  bitter  wind  eddying  through  the  area.  Presently 
the  door  was  opened,  and  there  stood  the  girl,  in  such 
a  condition  of  bronchitis  as  I  hardly  ever  saw  in  my 
life.  When  the  mistress  appeared  I  told  her  civilly 
that  I  was  very  sorry,  but  that  the  girl  was  in  mortal 
danger  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs  and  must  be  put 
to  bed  immediately.  "Oh,  that  was  entirely  out  of 
the  question."  "  But  it  must  be  done,"  I  said.  Event- 
ually, after  much  angry  altercation,  the  woman  con- 
sented to  my  fetching  a  fly,  putting  the  girl  into  it, 
driving  with  her  to  the  infirmary  (for  which  I  had 
always  tickets),  and  leaving  her  there  in  charge  of  a 
friendly  doctor.  Next  -day  when  I  called  to  enquire, 
he  told  me  .she  could  scarcely  have  lived  after  another 
hour  of  exposure,  and  that  .she  could  recover  only  by 
the  most  stringent  and  immediate  treatment.  It  was 
another  instance  of  the  verification  of  my  supersti- 
tion. 

Of  course"  we  tried  to  draw  attention  generally  to  the 
need  for  some  supervision  of  the  poor  workhouse  girls 
throughout  the  country.  I  wrote  and  read  at  a  Social 
Science  Congress  a  paper  on  "  Friendless  Girls  and  How 
to  Help  Them,"  giving  a  full  account  of  Miss  Stephen's 
admirable  "  Preventive  Mission  :  "  and  this  I  had  reason 
to  hope  aroused  some  interest.  Several  years  later 
Miss  Elliot  wrote  a  charming  little  book  with  full  details 
about  her  girls  and  their   letters :    "  Workhouse  Girls ; 


WORKHOUSE  GIRLS.  305 

Notes  of  an  Attempt  to  Help  Them,"  published  by  Nis- 
bet.  Also  we  managed  to  get  numerous  articles  and 
letters  into  newspapers  touching  on  workhouse  abuses 
and  needs  generally.  Miss  Elliot  having  many  influen- 
tial friends  was  able  to  do  a  great  deal  in  the  way  of 
getting  our  ideas  put  before  the  public.  I  used  to  write 
my  papers  after  coming  home  in  the  evening  and  often 
late  into  the  night.  Sometimes,  when  I  was  very  anx- 
ious that  something  should  go  off  by  the  early  morning 
mail,  I  got  out  of  the  side  window  of  my  sitting-room  at 
two  or  three  o'clock  and  walked  the  half  mile  to  the  sol- 
itary post-office  near  the  "  Black  Boy "  (pillar  posts 
were  undreamed  of  in  those  days),  and  then  climbed  in 
at  the  window  again,  to  sleep  soundly ! 

Some  years  afterwards  I  wrote  in  "Fraser's  Maga- 
zine," and  later  again  republished  in  my  "  Studies : 
Ethical  and  Social,"  a  somewhat  elaborate  article  on 
"  The  Philosophy  of  the  Poor  Laws  "  as  I  had  come  to 
understand  it  after  my  experience  at  Bristol.  This 
paper  was  so  fortunate  as  to  fall  in  the  way  of  an  Aus- 
tralian philanthropic  gentleman,  President  of  a  Koyal 
Commission  to  enquire  into  the  question  of  pauper 
legislation  in  New  South  Wales.  He  (Mr.  Windeyer) 
approved  of  several  of  my  suggestions  and  recommended 
them  in  the  report  of  his  commission,  and  eventually 
procured  their  embodiment  in  the  laws  of  the  Colony. 

The  following  is  one  of  several  letters  which  I  re- 
ceived from  him  on  the  subject. 

Chambers,  Sydney,  June  6th,  1874. 
My  Dear  Madam,  —  Though  personally  unknown  to 
you  I  take  the  liberty  as  a  warm  admirer  of  your  writ- 
ings, to  which  I  owe  so  much  both  of  intellectual  enter- 
tainment and  profoundest  spiritual  comfort,  to  send  you 
herewith  a  copy  of  a  Keport  upon  the  Public  Charities 
of  New  South  Wales,  brought  up  by  a  Boyal  Commis- 
sion of  which  I  was  the  President.     I  may  add  that  the 


306  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

document  was  written  by  me  ;  and  that  my  brother  com- 
missioners did  me  the  honor  of  adopting  it  without  any 
alteration.  As  the  views  to  which  I  have  endeavored 
to  give  expression  have  been  so  eloquently  advocated  by 
you,  I  have  ventured  to  hope  that  my  attempt  to  give 
practical  expression  to  them  in  this  Colony  may  not  be 
without  interest  to  you,  as  the  first  effort  made  in  this 
young  country  to  promulgate  sounder  and  more  philoso- 
phic views  as  to  the  training  of  pauper  children. 

In  your  large  heart  the  feeling  "  Homo  sum  "  will,  I 
think,  make  room  for  some  kindly  sympathy  with  those 
who,  far  off,  in  a  small  provincial  way,  try  to  rouse  the 
attention  and  direct  the  energies  of  men  for  the  benefit 
of  their  kind,  and  if  any  good  comes  of  this  bit  of  work, 
I  should  like  you  to  know  how  much  I  have  been  sus- 
tained amidst  much  of  the  opposition  which  all  new 
ideas  encounter,  by  the  convictions  which  you  have  so 
materially  aided  in  building  up  and  confirming.  If  you 
care  to  look  further  into  our  inquiry  I  shall  be  sending 
a  copy  of  the  evidence  to  the  Misses  Hill,  whose  ac- 
quaintance I  had  the  great  pleasure  of  making  on  their 
visit  to  this  country,  and  they  doubtless  would  show  it 
to  you  if  caring  to  see  it,  but  I  have  not  presumed  to 
bore  you  with  anything  further  than  the  Eeport. 

Believe  me,  your  faithful  servant, 

Will.  C.  Windeyer. 

I  have  since  learned  with  great  pleasure  from  an  of- 
ficial report  sent  from  Australia  to  a  Congress  held 
during  the  World's  Pair  of  1893  at  Chicago,  that  the  ar- 
rangement has  been  found  perfectly  successful,  and  has 
been  permanently  adopted  in  the  Colony. 

While  earnestly  advocating  some  such  friendly  care 
and  guardianship  of  these  workhouse  girls  as  I  have 
described,  I  would  nevertheless  enter  here  my  serious 
protest  against  the  excessive  lengths  to  which  one  so- 
ciety  in   particular  —  devoted    to   the   welfare  of   the 


WORKHOUSE  GIRLS.  307 

humbler  class  of  girls  generally  —  has  gone  of  late 
years  in  the  matter  of  incessant  pleasure-parties  for 
them.  I  do  not  think  that  encouragement  to  (what  is 
to  them)  dissipation  conduces  to  their  real  welfare  or 
happiness.  It  is  always  only  too  easy  for  all  of  us  to 
remove  the  centre  of  our  interest  from  the  Business  of 
life  to  its  Pleasures.  The  moment  this  is  done,  whether 
in  the  case  of  poor  persons  or  rich,  Duty  becomes  a 
weariness.  Success  in  our  proper  work  is  no  longer  an 
object  of  ambition,  and  the  hours  necessarily  occupied 
by  it  are  grudged  and  curtailed.  Amusement  usurps 
the  foreground,  instead  of  being  kept  in  the  back- 
ground, of  thought.  This  is  the  kind  of  moral  disloca- 
tion which  is  even  now  destroying,  in  the  higher  ranks, 
much  of  the  duty-loving  character  bequeathed  to  our 
Anglo-Saxon  race  by  our  Puritan  fathers.  Ladies  and 
gentlemen  do  not  indeed  now  "  live  to  eat  "  like  the  old 
epicures,  but  they  live  to  shoot,  to  hunt,  to  play  tennis 
or  golf ;  to  give  and  attend  parties  of  one  sort  or  an- 
other ;  and  the  result,  I  think,  is  to  a  great  degree  trace- 
able in  the  prevailing  pessimism.  But  bad  as  excessive 
pleasure-seeking  and  duty-neglecting  is  for  those  who 
are  not  compelled  to  earn  their  bread,  it  is  absolutely 
fatal  to  those  who  must  needs  do  so.  The  temptations 
which  lie  in  the  way  of  a  young  servant  who  has  ac- 
quired a  distaste  for  honest  work  and  a  passion  for 
pleasure  require  no  words  of  mine  to  set  forth  in  their 
terrible  colors.  Even  too  much  and  too  exciting  read- 
ing and  endless  letter-writing  may  render  wholesome 
toil  obnoxious.  A  good  maid  I  once  possessed  simply 
observed  to  me  (on  hearing  that  a  friend's  servant  had 
read  twenty  volumes  in  a  fortnight  and  neglected  mean- 
while to  mend  her  mistress's  clothes),  "I  never  kneAV 
any  one  who  was  so  fond  of  books  who  did  not  hate  her 
work  ! "  It  is  surely  no  kindness  to  train  people  to 
hate  the  means  by  which  they  can  honorably  support 
themselves,  and  which  might,  in  itself,  be  interesting 


308  FRANCES  POWEB   COB  BE. 

and  pleasant  to  them.  But  incessant  tea-parties  and 
concerts  and  excursions  are  much  more  calculated  to 
distract  and  dissipate  the  minds  of  girls  than  even  the 
most  exciting  story  books,  and  the  good  folks  who 
would  be  shocked  to  supply  them  with  an  unintermit- 
tent  series  of  novels,  do  not  see  the  mischief  of  encour- 
aging the  perpetual  entertainments  now  in  vogue  all 
over  the  country.  Let  us  make  the  girls  first  safe; 
then  as  happy  as  we  can.  But  it  is  an  error  to  imagine 
that  over-indulgence  in  dissipation — even  in  the  shape 
of  the  most  respectable  tea-parties  and  excursions  —  is 
the  way  to  make  them  either  safe  or  happy. 

The  following  is  an  account  which  Miss  Florence  D. 
Hill  has  kindly  written  for  me,  of  the  details  of  her 
own  work  on  behalf  of  pauper  children  which  dovetailed 
with  ours  for  workhouse  girls  :  — 

March  27th,  1894. 

I  well  remember  the  deep  interest  with  which  I 
learnt  from  your  own  lips  the  simple  but  effective  plan 
by  which  you  and  Miss  Elliot  and  her  sister  befriended 
the  elder  girls  from  Bristol  Workhouse,  and  heard  you 
read  your  paper,  "  Friendless  Girls,  and  How  to  Help 
Them,"  at  the  meeting  of  the  British  Association  in 
Dublin  in  1861.  Gradually  another  benevolent  scheme 
was  coming  into  effect,  which  not  only  bestows  friends 
but  a  home  and  family  affections  on  the  forlorn  pauper 
child,  taking  it  in  hand  from  infancy.  The  reference 
in  your  "  Philosophy  of  the  Poor  Laws  "  to  Mr.  Greig's 
Report  on  Boarding-out  as  pursued  for  many  years  at 
Edinburgh,  caused  my  cousin,  Miss  Clark,  to  make  the 
experiment  in  South  Australia,  which  has  developed 
into  a  noble  system  for  dealing  under  natural  conditions 
with  all  destitute  and  erring  children  in  the  great  Colo- 
nies of  the  South  Seas.  Meanwhile,  at  home,  the  evi- 
dence of  success  attained  by  Mrs.  Archer  in  Wiltshire 
and  her  disciples  elsewhere,  and  by  other  independent 
workers,  in  placing  orphan  and  deserted  children  in  the 


WOREIIOUSE  GIRLS.  309 

care  of  foster  parents,  enabled  the  late  Dr.  Goodeve,  ex- 
officio  Guardian  for  Clifton,  to  obtain  the  adoption  of 
the  plan  by  his  Board  ;  his  wife  becoming  President  of 
one  of  the  very  first  committees  formed  to  find  suitable 
homes  and  supervise  the  children. 

Your  suggestion  to  me  long  before  to  become  a  visitor 
at  Clifton  Workhouse  turned  my  thoughts  to  poor-law 
administration,  and  especially  enlisted  my  sympathy 
for  those  whom  you  touchingly  named  "  children  of  the 
State."  One  consequence  has  been  the  study  of  the  dif- 
ferent methods  pursued  at  home  and  abroad  for  their 
up-bringing ;  and  though  much  that  is  praiseworthy 
may  exist  in  the  rest,  I  am  convinced  that  in  boarding- 
out  (whose  adoption  among  us  connects  itself  closely  in 
my  mind  with  you)  are  found  the  circumstances  on 
which  we  may  confidently  rely  to  yield  the  larger  meas- 
ure of  success  as  affording  the  nearest  approach  yet  dis- 
covered to  the  lot  appointed  by  God  for  the  healthful 
growth  of  body,  mind,  and  soul.  This  plan  endows  the 
poor  little  waif  with  the  love  of  father  and  mother,  the 
companionship  of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  his  share  in 
the  varied  joys  and  sorrows,  duties  and  advantages 
which  spring  from  community  with  them,  creating  that 
bond  —  strong  to  endure  adversity,  to  purify  success  — 
woven  from  the  common  events  of  home-life  even  before 
memory  can  note.  The  abandoned  child  enters  an  hon- 
orable family,  develops  into  the  respectable  citizen,  and 
becomes  a  useful  member  of  the  body  politic. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

FRIENDS    IN    BRISTOL. 

What  is  Chance  ?  How  often  does  that  question  re- 
cur in  the  course  of  every  history,  small  or  great  ?  My 
whole  course  of  life  was  deflected  by  the  mishap  of 
stepping  a  little  awry  out  of  a  train  at  Bath,  and  mis- 
calculating the  height  of  the  platform,  which  is  there 
unusually  low.  I  had  gone  to  spend  a  day  with  a  friend, 
and  on  my  way  back  to  Bristol  I  thus  sprained  my 
ankle.  I  was  at  that  time  forty  years  of  age  (a  date  I 
now,  alas,  regard  as  quite  the  prime  of  life  !),  and  in 
splendid  health  and  spirits,  fully  intending  to  continue 
for  the  rest  of  my  days  laboring  on  the  same  lines  as 
prospects  of  usefulness  might  open.  I  remember  feel- 
ing the  delight  of  walking  over  the  springy  sward  of  the 
Downs  and  laughing  as  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  do  believe 
I  could  walk  down  anybody  and  perhaps  talk  down  any- 
body too !  "  The  next  week  I  was  a  poor  cripple  on 
crutches,  never  to  take  a  step  without  them  for  four 
long  years,  during  which  period  I  grew  practically  into 
an  old  woman,  and  (unhappily  for  me)  into  a  very  large 
and  heavy  one,  for  want  of  the  exercise  to  which  I  had 
been  accustomed.  The  morning  after  my  mishap,  find- 
ing my  ankle  much  swollen  and  being  in  a  great  hurry 
to  go  on  with  my  work,  I  sent  for  one  of  the  principal 
surgeons  in  Bristol  who  bound  the  limb  so  tightly  that 
the  circulation  (always  rather  feeble)  was  impeded,  and 
every  sort  of  distressful  condition  supervened.  Of 
course  the  surgeon  threw  the  blame  on  me  for  attempt- 
ing to  use  the  leg ;  but  it  was  very  little  I  could  do  in 


FBIENDS  IN  BRISTOL. 

this  way  even  if  I  had  tried,  without  excessive  pain; 
and,  after  a  few  weeks,  I  went  to  London  in  the  full 
confidence  that  I  had  only  to  bespeak  "  the  best  advice  " 
to  be  speedily  cured.  I  did  get  what  all  the  world  would 
still  consider  the  "  best  advice  ; "  but  bad  was  that  best. 
Guineas  I  could  ill  spare  ran  away  like  water  while  the 
great  surgeon  came  and  went,  doing  me  no  good  at  all ; 
the  evil  conditions  growing  worse  daily.  I  returned 
back  from  London  and  spent  some  wretched  months  at 
Clifton.  An  artery,  I  believe,  was  stopped,  and  there 
was  danger  of  inflammation  of  the  joint.  At  last  with 
infinite  regret  I  gave  up  the  hope  of  ever  recovering 
such  activity  as  would  permit  me  to  carry  on  my  work 
either  in  the  schools  or  workhouse.  No  one  who  has 
not  known  the  miseries  of  lameness,  the  perpetual  con- 
tention with  ignoble  difficulties  which  it  involves,  can 
judge  how  hard  a  trial  it  is  to  an  active  mind  to  become 
a  cripple. 

Still  believing  in  my  simplicity  that  great  surgeons 
might  remedy  every  evil,  I  went  again  to  London  to 
consult  the  most  eminent,  and  by  the  mistake  of  a  friend 
it  chanced  that  I  summoned  two  very  great  personages 
on  the  same  day,  though,  fortunately,  at  different  hours. 
The  case  was,  of  course,  of  the  simplest ;  but  the  two 
gentlemen  gave  me  precisely  opposite  advice.  One  sent 
me  abroad  to  certain  baths,  which  proved  to  be  the 
wrong  ones  for  my  trouble,  and  gave  me  a  letter  to  his 
friend  there,  a  certain  baron.  The  moment  the  baron- 
doctor  saw  my  foot  he  exclaimed  that  it  ought  never  to 
have  been  allowed  to  get  into  the  state  of  swollen  veins 
and  arrested  circulation  in  which  he  found  it ;  astrin- 
gents and  all  sorts  of  measures  ought  to  have  been  ap- 
plied. In  truth  I  was  in  a  most  miserable  condition,  for 
I  could  not  drop  the  limb  for  two  minutes  without  the 
blood  running  into  it  till  it  became  like  an  ink-bottle, 
when,  if  I  held  it  up,  it  became  as  white  as  if  dead. 
And  all  this  had  been  getting  worse  and  worse  while  I 


312  FBANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

was  consulting  ten  doctors  in  succession,  and  chiefly  the 
most  eminent  in  England  !  The  baron-doctor  first  told 
me  that  the  waters  ivould  bring  out  the  gout,  and  then, 
when  I  objected,  assured  me  they  should  not  bring  it 
out ;  after  which  I  relinquished  the  privilege  of  his 
visits,  and  he  charged  me  for  an  entire  course  of 
treatment. 

The  second  great  London  surgeon  told  me  not  to  go 
abroad,  but  to  have  a  gutta-percha  boot  made  for  my 
leg  to  keep  it  stiff.  I  had  the  boot  made  (with  much 
distress  and  expense),  took  it  abroad  in  my  trunk,  and 
asked  the  successor  of  the  baron-doctor  (who  could 
make  the  waters  give  the  gout  or  not  as  he  pleased), 
"whether  he  advised  me  to  wear  the  wonderful  ma- 
chine ? "  The  good  old  Frenchman,  who  was  also 
Mayor  of  his  town,  and  who  did  me  more  good  than 
anybody  else,  replied  cautiously,  "  If  you  wish,  Madame, 
to  be  lame  for  life  you  will  wear  that  boot.  A  great 
many  English  come  to  us  here  to  be  unstiffened  after 
having  had  their  joints  stiffened  by  English  surgeons' 
devices  of  this  sort,  but  we  can  do  nothing  for  them. 
A  joint  once  thoroughly  stiff  can  never  be  restored." 
It  may  be  guessed  that  the  expensive  boot  was  quietly 
deposited  on  the  nearest  heap  of  rubbish. 

After  that  experience  I  tried  the  baths  in  Savoy  and 
others  in  Italy.  But  my  lameness  seemed  permanent. 
A  great  Italian  doctor  could  think  of  nothing  better 
than  to  put  a  few  walnut-leaves  on  my  ankle  —  a  pro- 
cess which  might  perhaps  have  effected  something  in 
fifty  years  !  Only  the  good  and  great  ISTelaton,  whom  I 
consulted  in  Paris,  told  me  he  believed  I  should  recover 
some  time ;  but  he  could  not  tell  me  anything  to  do  to 
hasten  the  event.  Eeturned  to  London  I  sent  for  Sir 
William  Fergusson,  and  that  honest  man  on  hearing  my 
story  said  simply  :  "  And  if  you  had  gone  to  nobody 
and  not  bandaged  your  ankle,  but  merely  bathed  it,  you 
would  have  been  well  in  three  weeks."     Thus  I  learned 


FEIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  313 

from  the  best  authority,  that  I  had  paid  for  the  folly  of 
consulting  an  eminent  surgeon  for  a  common  sprain,  by 
four  years  of  miserable  helplessness  and  by  the  break- 
ing up  of  my  whole  plan  of  life. 

I  must  conclude  this  dismal  record  by  one  last  trait 
of  medical  character.  I  had  determined,  after  seeing 
Fergusson,  to  consult  no  other  doctor ;  indeed  I  could 
ill  afford  to  do  so.  But  a  friend  conveyed  to  me  a  mes- 
sage from  a  London  surgeon  of  repute  (since  dead)  that 
he  would  like  to  be  allowed  to  treat  me  gratuitously; 
having  felt  much  interest  in  my  books.  I  was  simple 
enough  to  fall  into  the  trap  and  to  feel  grateful  for  his 
offer ;  and  I  paid  him  several  visits,  during  which  he 
chatted  pleasantly,  and  once  did  some  trifling  thing  to 
relieve  my  foot.  One  day  I  wrote  and  asked  him 
kindly  to  advise  me  by  letter  about  some  directions  he 
had  given  me ;  whereupon  he  answered  tartly  that  he 
"  could  not  correspond-;  and  that  I  must  always  attend 
at  his  house."  The  suspicion  dawned  on  me,  and  soon 
reached  conviction,  that  what  he  wanted  was  not  so 
much  to  cure  me,  as  to  swell  the  scanty  show  of  patients 
in  his  waiting-room  !  Of  course  after  this,  I  speedily 
retreated ;  offering  many  thanks  and  some  small,  and  as 
I  hoped,  acceptable  souvenir  with  inscription  to  lie  on 
his  table.  But  when  I  thought  this  had  concluded  my 
relations  with  Mr. ,  I  found  I  had  reckoned  with- 
out my  —  doctor/  One  after  another  he  wrote  to  me 
three  or  four  peremptory  notes  requesting  me  to  send 
him  introductions  for  himself  or  his  family  to  influen- 
tial friends  of  mine  rather  out  of  his  sphere.  I  would 
rather  have  paid  him  fifty  fees  than  have  felt  bound  to 
give  these  introductions. 

Finally  I  ceased  to  do  anything  whatever  to  my 
unfortunate  ankle,  except  what  most  of  my  advisers 
had  forbidden,  namely,  to  walk  upon  it,  —  and  a  year 
or  two  afterwards  I  climbed  Cader  Idris ;  walking 
quietly  with  my  friend  to  the  summit.     Sitting  there 


314  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

on  the  Giants'  Chair  we  passed  an  unanimous  resolu- 
tion.    It  was  :    "  Hang  the  doctors  !  " 

I  must  now  set  down  a  few  recollections  of  the  many- 
friends  and  interesting  acquaintances  whom  I  met  at 
Bristol.  In  the  first  place  I  may  say  briefly  that  all 
Miss  Carpenter's  friends  (mostly  Unitarians)  were  very 
kind  to  me,  and  that  though  I  did  not  go  out  to  any 
sort  of  entertainment  while  I  lived  with  her,  it  was  not 
for  lack  of  hospitable  invitations. 

The  family  next  to  that  of  the  Dean  with  which  I 
became  closely  acquainted  and  to  which  I  owed  most 
was  that  of  Matthew  Davenport  Hill,  the  Eecorder  of 
Birmingham,  whose  labors  (summed  up  in  his  own 
"  Repression  of  Crime  "  and  in  his  "  Biography  "  by  his 
daughters)  did  more,  I  believe,  than  those  of  any  other 
philanthropist  beside  Mary  Carpenter,  to  improve  the 
treatment  of  both  adult  and  juvenile  crime  in  England. 
I  am  not  competent  to  offer  judgment  on  the  many  ques- 
tions of  jurisprudence  with  which  he  dealt,  but  I  can  well 
testify  to  the  exceeding  goodness  of  his  large  heart,  the 
massiveness  of  his  grasp  of  his  subjects,  and  (never  to 
be  forgotten)  his  most  delightful  humor.  He  was  a 
man  who  from  unlucky  chances  never  attained  a  posi- 
tion commensurate  with  his  abilities  and  his  worth,  but 
who  was  beloved  and  admired  in  no  ordinary  degree  by 
all  who  came  near  him.  His  family  of  sons  and  daugh- 
ters formed  a  centre  of  usefulness  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Bristol  as  they  have  since  done  in  London,  where 
Miss  Hill  is,  I  believe,  now  the  senior  member  of  the 
School  Board,  while  her  sister,  Miss  Florence  Daven- 
port Hill,  has  been  equally  active  as  a  poor  law  guar- 
dian, and  most  especially  as  the  originator  of  the  great 
and  far-reaching  reform  in  the  management  of  pauper 
orphans,  known  as  the  system  of  boarding-out,  of 
which  I  have  spoken  in  the  last  chapter.  I  must 
not  indulge  myself  by  writing  at  too  great  length  of 
such  friends,  but  will  insert  here  a  few  notes  I  made 


FRIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  315 

of  Recorder  Hill's  wonderfully  interesting  conversa- 
tion during  a  Christmas  visit  I  paid  to  him  at  Heath 
House. 

"  December  26th.  I  spent  yesterday  and  last  night 
with  my  kind  friends  the  Hills  at  Heath  House.  In 
the  evening  I  drew  out  the  Recorder  to  speak  of  ques- 
tions of  evidence,  and  he  told  me  many  remarkable 
anecdotes  in  his  own  practice  at  the  bar,  of  doubtful 
identity,  etc.  On  one  occasion  a  case  was  tried  three 
times ;  and  he  observed  how  the  certainty  of  the  wit- 
nesses, the  clearness  of  details,  and  unhesitating  assever- 
ation of  facts  which  at  first  had  been  doubtfully  stated, 
grew  in  each  trial.  He  said  '  the  most  dangerous  of  all 
witnesses  are  those  who  honestly  give  false  witness  —  a 
most  numerous  class.' 

"  To-day  he  invited  me  to  walk  with  him  on  his  ter- 
race and  up  and  down  the  approach.  The  snow  lay 
thick  on  the  grass,  but  the  sun  shone  bright,  and  I 
walked  for  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half  beside  the 
dear  old  man.  He  told  me  how  he  had  by  degrees 
learned  to  distrust  all  ideas  of  retribution,  and  to 
believe  in  the  '  aggressive  power  of  love  and  kindness  ' 
(a  phrase  Lady  Byron  had  liked)  ;  and  how  at  last  it 
struck  him  that  all  this  was  in  the  New  Testament ; 
and  that  few,  except  religious  Christians,  ever  aided  the 
great  causes  of  philanthropy.  I  said  it  was  quite  true, 
Christ  had  revealed  that  religion  of  love ;  and  that 
there  were  unhappily  very  few  who,  having  intellect- 
ually doubted  the  Christian  creed,  pressed  on  further  to 
any  clear  or  fervent  religion  beyond  ;  but  that  without 
religion,  i.  e.,  love  of  God,  I  hardly  believed  it  possible 
to  work  for  man.  He  said  he  had  known  nearly  all  the 
eminent  men  of  his  time  in  every  line,  and  had  some- 
how got  close  to  them,  and  had  never  found  one  of  them 
really  believe  Christianity.  I  said,  '  No ;  no  strong 
intellect  of  our  day  could  do  so,  altogether}  but  that  I 
thought   it  was   faithless    in    us    to  doubt   that   if   we 


316  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

pushed  bravely  on  to  whatever  seemed  truth  we  should 
there  find  all  the  more  reason  to  love  God  and  man,  and 
never  lose  any  real  good  of  Christianity.'  He  agreed, 
but  said,  '  You  are  a  watchmaker,  I  am  a  weaver ;  this 
is  your  work,  I  have  a  different  one,  — and  I  cannot 
afford  to  part  with  the  Evangelicals,  who  are  my  best 
helpers.  Thus  though  I  wholly  disagree  with  them 
about  Sunday  I  never  publish  my  difference.'  I  said  I 
felt  the  great  danger  of  pushing  uneducated  people 
beyond  the  bounds  of  an  authoritative  creed,  and  for  my 
own  part  would  think  it  safest  that.  Jowett's  views 
should  prevail  for  a  generation,  preparatory  to  The- 
ism. 

"Then  we  spoke  of  Immortality,  and  he  expressed 
himself  nobly  on  the  thought  that  all  our  differences  of 
rich  and  poor,  wise  or  ignorant,  are  lost  in  comparison 
of  that  one  fact  of  our  common  Immortality.  As  he 
said,  he  felt  that  waiting  a  moment  jostled  in  a  crowd 
at  a  railway  station  was  a  larger  point  in  comparison 
of  his  whole  life  than  this  life  is  to  the  future.  We 
joined  in  condemning  Emerson  and  George  Eliot's 
ideas  of  the  '  little  value  '  of  ordinary  souls.  His 
burst  of  indignation  at  her  phrase  'Guano  races  of 
men '  was  very  fine.  He  said,  talking  of  reformatories, 
'A  century  hence  —  in  1960  —  some  people  will  walk 
this  terrace  and  talk  of  the  great  improvement  of  the 
new  asylums  where  hopeless  criminals  and  vicious  per- 
sons will  be  permanently  consigned.  They  will  not  be 
formally  condemned  for  life,  but  we  shall  all  know 
that  they  will  never  fulfil  the  conditions  of  their 
release.  They  will  not  be  made  unhappy,  but  forced 
to  work  and  kept  under  strong  control :  the  happiest 
state  for  them.'" 

Here  is  a  very  flattering  letter  from  Mr.  Hill  written 
a  few  years  later,  on  receipt  of  a  copy  of  my 
"Italics":  — 


FBIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  317 

The  Hawthorns,  Edgbaston,  Birmingham, 

25th  Oct.,  1864. 

My  Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  Although  I  am  kept  out  of 
court  to-day  at  the  instance  of  my  physician,  who 
threatens  me  with  bronchitis  if  I  do  not  keep  house, 
yet  it  has  been  a  day  not  devoid  of  much  enjoyment. 
Your  charming  book  which,  alas,  I  have  nearly  finished, 
is  carrying  me  through  it  only  too  rapidly.  What  a 
harvest  of  observation,  thought,  reading,  and  discourse 
have  you  brought  home  from  Italy !  But  I  am  too 
much  overwhelmed  with  it  to  talk  much  about  it, 
especially  in  the  obfuscated  state  of  my  intellect  to 
which  I  am  just  now  reduced.  But  I  must  just  tell 
you  how  I  am  amused  in  the  midst  of  my  admiration, 
with  your  humility  as  regards  your  sex ;  said  humility 
being  a  cloak  which,  opening  a  little  at  one  page,  dis- 
closes a  rich  garment  of  pride  underneath  (vide  page 
438  towards  the  bottom).  I  say  no  more,  only  as  I 
don't  mean  to  give  up  the  follies  of  youth  for  the  next 
eight  years,  that  is  until  I  am  eighty,  I  don't  choose  to 
be  called  "  venerable."  One  might  as  well  consent  to 
become  an  Archdeacon  at  once  ! 

Your  portraits  are  delightful,  some  of  the  originals  I 
know,  and  the  likeness  is  good,  but  alas,  idealized  ! 

To  call  your  book  a  "  trifling  "  work  is  just  as  absurd 
as  to  call  me  "  venerable."  It  deals  nobly,  fearlessly, 
and  I  will  add  in  many  parts  profoundly,  with  the 
greatest  questions  that  can  employ  human  intellect  or 
touch  the  human  heart,  and  although  I  do  not  always 
agree  with  you,  I  always  respect  your  opinions  and 
learn  from  the  arguments  by  which  they  are  supported. 
But  certainly  in  the  vast  majority  of  instances  I  do 
agree  with  you,  and  more  than  agree,  which  is  a  cold, 
unimpressive  term. 

Most  truly  yours, 

M.  D.  Hill. 


318  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Heath  House,  Stapleton,  Bristol, 
17th  August,  1871. 

My  Dear  Miss  Cobbe, —  That  is  to  say  falsest  of 
woman  kind !  You  have  cruelly  jilted  me.  Florry 
wrote  to  say  you  were  coming  here  as  you  ought  to 
have  done  long  ago.  Well,  as  your  countryman, 
Ossian,  or  his  double,  Macpherson,  says,  "  Age  is  dark 
and  unlovely,"  and  therefore  the  rival  of  the  American 
Giantess  turns  a  broad  back  upon  me.  I  must  submit 
to  my  fall.     .     .     . 

Though  I  take  in  the  "  Echo,"  I  have  not  lately  seen 
any  article  which  I  could  confidently  attribute  to  your 
pen. 

I  have,  however,  been  much  gratified  with  your 
article  on  "  The  Devil,"  the  only  writing  I  ever  read  on 
the  origin  of  evil  which  did  not  appear  to  me  absolutely 
contemptible.  Talking  of  these  matters,  Coleridge  said 
to  Thelwall  (ex  relatione  Thelwall),  "God  has  all  the 
power  that  is,  but  there  is  no  power  over  a  contradic- 
tion expressed  or  implied."  Your  suggestion  that  the 
existence  of  evil  is  due  to  contradiction  is,  I  have  no 
doubt,  very  just,  but  my  stupid  head  is  this  morning 
quite  unable  to  put  on  paper  what  is  foggily  floating  in 
my  mind,  and  so  I  leave  it. 

I  spent  a  good  part  of  yesterday  morning  in  reading 
the  "  Westminster  Eeview  "  of  Walt  Whitman's  works, 
which  quite  laid  hold  of  me. 

Most  truly  yours, 

M.  D.  Hill. 

Another  interesting  person  whom  I  first  came  to  know 
at  Bristol  (where  he  visited  at  the  Deanery  and  at  Dr. 
Symonds'  house)  was  the  late  Master  of  Balliol.  I 
have  already  cited  some  kind  letters  from  him  referring 
to  our  plans  for  incurables,  and  workhouse  girls.  I 
will  be  vain  enough  to  quote  here,  with  the  permission 
of  the  friend  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  some  of 


FRIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  319 

his  remarks  about  my  "  Intuitive  Morals  "  and  "  Broken 
Lights ; "  and  also  his  opinion  of  Theodore  Parker, 
which  will  interest  many  readers  :  — 

From  Rev.  Benjamin  Jowett. 

January  22d,  1861. 

I  heard  of  your  friend  Miss  Cobbe  the  other  day  at 
Pulham.  .  .  .  Pray  urge  her  to  go  on  with  her 
books  and  try  to  make  them  more  interesting.  (This 
can  only  be  done  by  throwing  more  feeling  into  them 
and  adapting  them  more  to  what  other  people  are 
thinking  and  feeling  about.)  I  am  not  speaking  of 
changing  her  ideas,  but  the  mode  of  expressing  them. 
The  great  labor  of  writing  is  adapting  what  you  say  to 
others.  She  has  great  ability,  and  there  is  something 
really  fine  and  striking  in  her  views  of  things,  so  that 
it  is  worth  while  she  should  consider  the  form  of  her 
writings.     .     .     . 

April  16th,  1861. 

Let  me  pass  to  a  more  interesting  subject  —  Miss 
Cobbe.  Since  I  wrote  to  you  last  I  have  read  the 
greater  part  of  her  book  ("  Intuitive  Morals")  which  I 
quite  agree  with  you  in  thinking  full  of  interest.  It 
shows  great  power  and  knowledge  of  the  subject,  yet  I 
should  fear  it  would  be  hardly  intelligible  to  any  one 
who  had  not  been  nourished  at  some  time  of  their  lives 
on  the  philosophy  of  Kant ;  and  also  she  seems  to  me 
to  be  too  exclusive  and  antagonistic  towards  other 
systems  —  e.  g.,  the  Utilitarian.  All  systems  of  Philo- 
sophy have  their  place  and  use,  and  lay  hold  on  some 
minds,  and  therefore  though  they  are  not  all  equally 
true,  it  is  no  use  to  rail  at  Bentham  and  the  Utilita- 
rians after  the  manner  of  "Blackwoods'  Magazine." 
Perhaps,  however,  Miss  Cobbe  would  retort  on  me  that 
her  attacks  on  the  Utilitarians  have  their  place  and 
their  use  too  ;  only  they  were  not  meant  for  people  who 
"  revel  in  skepticism  "  like  me  (the  "  Saturday  Review  " 


320  FBAXCJES  POWER   COBBE. 

says,  is  it  not  very  Irish  of  them  to  say  so  ?).  Pray 
exhort  her  to  write  (for  it  is  really  worth  while)  and 
not  to  spend  her  money  and  time  wholly  in  schemes  of 
philanthropy.  For  a  woman  of  her  ability,  writing 
offers  a  great  field,  better  in  many  respects  than  practi- 
cal life. 

October  10th,  1861. 
A  day  or  two  ago  I  was  at  Clifton  and  saw  Miss 
Cobbe,  who  might  be  truly  described  as  very  "jolly." 
I  went  to  a  five  o'clock  tea  with  her  and  met  various 
people  —  an  aged  physician  named  Dr.  Brabant  who 
about  thirty  years  ago  gave  up  his  practice  to  study 
Hebrew  and  became  the  friend  of  German  Theologians ; 
Miss  Blagden,  whom  you  probably  know,  an  amiable 
lady  who  has  written  a  novel  and  is  the  owner  of  a 
little  white  puppy  wearing  a  scarlet  coat ;  Dr.  Goodeve, 
an  Indian  medical  officer ;  and  various  others.     .     .     . 

February  2d,  1862. 

Bemember  me  to  Miss  Cobbe  —  I  hope  she  gains 
from  you  sound  notions  on  Political  Economy.  I  shall 
always  maintain  that  Philanthropy  is  intolerable  when 
not  based  on  sound  ideas  of  Political  Economy. 

June  4th,  1862. 
The  articles    in  the  "  Daily  News  "  I  did  not   see. 
Were  they  Miss  Cobbe's  ?     I  read  her  paper  in  Fraser 
in  which  the  story  of  the  Carnival  was  extremely  well 
told.     .     .     . 

March  15th,  1863. 

I  write  to  thank  you  for  Miss  Cobbe's  pamphlet, 
which  I  have  read  with  great  pleasure.  I  think  her 
writing  is  always  good  and  able.  I  have  never  seen 
Theodore  Parker's  works :  he  was,  I  imagine,  a  sort  of 
hero  and  prophet ;  but  I  think  I  would  rather  have  the 
Church  of  England  large  enough  for  us  all  with  old 
memories  and  feelings,  notwithstanding  many  difficulties 
and  some  inquiries,  than  new  systems  of  Theism.    .    .    . 


FRIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  321 

March  10th,  1864. 

Miss  Cobbe  has  also  kindly  sent  me  a  little  book 
called  "Broken  Lights,"  which  appears  to  me  to  be 
extremely  good.  (I  think  the  title  is  rather  a  mistake.) 
I  dare  say  that  you  have  read  the  book.  The  style  is 
excellent,  and  the  moderation  and  calmness  with  which 
the  different  parties  are  treated  is  beyond  praise.  The 
only  adverse  criticism  that  I  should  venture  to  make  is 
that  the  latter  part  is  too  much  narrowed  to  Theodore 
Parker's  point  of  view,  who  was  a  great  man,  but  too 
confident,  I  think,  that  the  world  could  be  held  together 
by  spiritual  instincts. 

And  here  are  three  charming  letters  from  Mr.  Jowett 
to  me,  one  of  them  in  reply  to  a  letter  from  me  from 
Eome,  the  others  of  a  later  date. 

Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  I  write  to  thank  you  for  the 
Fraser  which  I  received  this  morning  and  have  read  with 
great  amusement  and  interest.  I  think  that  I  should 
really  feel  happier  living  to  see  the  end  of  the  Pope,  at 
least  in  his  present  mode  of  existence. 

I  did  indeed  receive  a  most  capital  letter  from  you 
with  a  kind  note  from  Miss  Elliot.  And  '  I  do  remem- 
ber me  of  my  faults  this  day.'  The  truth  is  that  being 
very  busy  with  Plato  (do  you  know  the  intolerable 
burden  of  writing  a  fat  book  in  two  volumes  ?)  I  put 
off  answering  the  letters  until  I  was  not  quite  certain 
whether  the  kind  writers  of  them  were  still  at  Kome. 
I  thought  the  Plato  would  have  been  out  by  this  time, 
but  this  was  only  one  of  the  numerous  delusions  in 
which  authors  indulge.  The  notes,  however,  are  really 
finished,  and  the  Essays  will  be  done  in  a  few  months. 
I  suspect  you  can  read  Greek,  and  shall  therefore  hope 
to  send  you  a  copy. 

I  was  always  inclined  to  think  well  of  the  Eomans 
from  their  defence  of  Eome  in  1848,  and  their  greatness 


322  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

and  strength  really  does  seern  to  show  that  they  mean 
to  be  the  centre  of  a  great  nation. 

Will  yon  give  my  very  kind  regards  to  the  Elliots  ? 
I  should  write  to  them  if  I  knew  exactly  where.   I  hear 
that  the  Dean  is  transformed  into  a  worshipper  of  the 
Virgin  and  of  other  pictures  of  the  Saints.1 
Believe  me,  dear  Miss  Cobbe, 

Yours  very  truly, 

B.    JOWETT. 
Bal.  Coll.,  May  19th. 

Coll.  de  Bal.,  Oxon. 

Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  I  shall  certainly  read  your 
paper  on  Political  Economy.  Political  Economy  seems 
to  me  in  this  imperfect  world  to  be  Humanity  on  a 
large  scale  (though  not  the  whole  of  humanity).  And 
I  am  always  afraid  of  it  being  partially  supplanted  by 
humanity  on  the  small  scale,  which  relieves  one-sixth 
of  the  poor  whom  we  see,  and  pauperizes  the  mind  of 
five-sixths  whom  we  don't  see. 

I  won't  trouble  you  with  any  more  reflections  on  such 
an  old  subject.  Remember  me  most  kindly  to  the 
Dean  and  his  daughters.  I  was  going  to  send  him  a 
copy  of  the  articles  against  Dr.  "Williams.  But  upon 
second  thoughts,  I  don't.  It  is  such  an  ungracious, 
unsavory  matter.  I  hope  that  he  won't  give  up  the 
Prolocutorship,  or  that,  if  he  does,  he  will  state  boldly 
his  reasons  for  doing  so.  It  is  true  that  neither  he  nor 
any  one  can  do  much  good  there.  But  the  mere  fact  of 
a  great  position  in  the  Church  of  England  being  held  by 
a  liberal  clergyman  is  of  great  importance. 

I  should  have  much  liked  to  go  to  Rome  this  win- 
ter. But  I  am  so  entangled,  first,  with  Plato,  and, 
second,  with  the  necessity  of  getting  rid  of  Plato  and 
writing  something  on  Theology,  that  I  do  not  feel 
justified  in  leaving  my  work.     The  vote  of  last  Tuesday 

i  Mr.  Jowett  referred  to  Dean  Elliot's  purchases  of  some  fine  old 
pictures. 


FRIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  323 

deferring  indefinitely  tlie  endowment  of  my  Professor- 
ship makes  me  feel  that  life  is  becoming  a  serious 
business  to  me.  Not  that  I  complain ;  the  amount  of 
sympathy  and  support  which  I  have  received  has  been 
enough  to  sustain  any  one,  if  they  needed  it  (you  should 
have  seen  an  excellent  squib  written  by  a  young  under- 
graduate). But  my  friends  are  sanguine  in  imagining 
they  will  succeed  hereafter.  Next  year  it  is  true  that 
they  probably  will  get  a  small  majority  in  congregation. 
This,  however,  is  of  no  use,  as  the  other  party  will 
always  bring  up  the  country  clergy  in  convocation.  I 
have,  therefore,  requested  Dr.  Stanley  to  take  no  further 
steps  in  the  Council  on  the  subject;  it  seems  to  me 
undignified  to  keep  the  University  squabbling  about  my 
income. 

Excuse  this  long  story,  which  is  partly  suggested  by 
your  kind  letter.     I  hope  you  will  enjoy  Eome.     With 

sincere  regard, 

Believe  me,  yours  truly, 

B.    JOWETT. 

Rev.  Benjamin  Jowett  to  Miss  Cobbe. 

Coll.  de  Ball.,  Oxon., 

February  24th,  1865. 

My  Dear  Miss  Cobbe,  —  I  write  to  thank  you  for 
your  very  kind  note.  I  am  much  more  pleased  at  the 
rejoicings  of  my  friends  than  at  the  result  which  has 
been  so  long  delayed  as  to  be  almost  indifferent  to  me. 
I  used  to  be  annoyed  at  feeling  that  I  was  such  a  bad 
example  to  young  men,  because  they  saw,  as  they  were 
intended  to  see,  that  unless  they  concealed  their  opinions 
they  would  suffer.  I  hope  they  will  have  more  cheer- 
ful prospects  now. 

I  trust  that  some  day  I  shall  be  able  to  write  some- 
thing more  on  Theology.  But  the  Plato  has  proved  an 
enormous  work,  having  expanded  into  a  sort  of  transla- 
tion of  the  whole  of  the  Dialogues.  I  believe  this  will 
be  finished  and  printed  about  Christmas,  but  not  before. 


324  FRANCES  POWEB   COB  BE. 

I  have  been  sorry  to  hear  of  your  continued  illness. 
When  I  come  to  London  I  shall  hope  to  look  in  upon 
you  in  Hereford  Square. 

In  haste,  believe  me, 

Yours  very  truly, 

B.    JOWETT. 

I  read  a  book  of  Theodore  Parker's  the  other  day 
—  "  Discourses  on  Religion."  He  was  a  friend  of  yours, 
I  believe  ?  I  admire  his  character  —  a  sort  of  religious 
Titan.  But  I  thought  his  philosophy  seemed  to  rest 
too  much  on  instincts. 

How  much  Mr.  Jowett  had  to  bear  from  the  animosity 
of  his  orthodox  contemporaries  in  the  Sixties  at  Oxford 
was  illustrated  by  the  following  incident.  I  was,  one 
day  about  this  time,  showing  his  jmotograph  to  a  lady, 
when  her  son,  late  from  Oxford,  came  into  the  room 
with  a  dog  at  his  heels.  Seeing  the  photograph  he 
remarked,  "  Ah,  yes  !  very  like.  This  dog  pinned  him 
in  quod  one  day,  and  was  made  so  much  of  afterwards  ! 

The  Dean  of especially  invited  him  "  (the  dog)  "  to 

lunch.  Jowett  complained  of  me,  and  I  had  to  send  all 
my  dogs  out  of  Oxford ! " 

The  following  is  a  note  which  I  made  of  two  of  his 
visits  to  me  on  Durdham  Down  : 

"  Two  visits  from  Mr.  Jowett,  who  each  time  drank 
tea  with  me.  He  said  he  felt  writing  to  be  a  great 
labor ;  but  regularly  wrote  one  page  every  day.  The 
liberal,  benevolent  way  he  spoke  of  all  creeds  was 
delightful.  In  particular  he  spoke  of  the  temptation  to 
Pantheism  and  praised  Hegel,  whom,  he  said,  he  had 
studied  deeply.  Advising  me  kindly  to  go  on  writing 
books,  he  maintained  against  me  the  vast  power  of 
books  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Jowett  was,  of  course,  at  all  times  a  most  inter- 
esting personality,  and  one  whose  intercourse  was  de- 
lightful and  highly  exciting  to  the  intellect.     But  his 


FRIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  325 

excessive  shyness,  combined  with  his  faculty  for  saying 
exceedingly  sharp  things,  must  have  precluded,  I  should 
think,  much  ease  of  conversation  between  him  and  the 
majority  of  his  friends.  As  usually  happens  in  the 
case  of  shy  people,  he  exhibited  rather  less  of  the 
characteristic  with  an  acquaintance  like  myself  who 
was  never  shy  (my  mother's  training  saved  me  from 
that  affliction  !)  and  who  was  not  at  all  afraid  of  him. 

In  later  years  Mr.  Jowett  obtained  for  me  (in  1876) 
the  signatures  of  the  Heads  of  every  College  in  Oxford 
to  a  petition,  which  I  had  myself  engrossed,  to  the 
House  of  Lords  in  favor  of  Lord  Carnarvon's  original 
bill  for  the  restriction  of  vivisection.  At  a  later  date 
the  Master  of  Balliol  declined  to  support  me  further  in 
the  agitation  for  the  prohibition  of  the  practice  ;  refer- 
ring me  to  the  assurances  of  a  certain  eminent  Boaner- 
ges of  science  as  guarantee  for  the  necessity  of  the 
practice  and  the  humanity  of  vivisectors.  It  is  very 
surprising  to  me  how  good  and  strong  men,  who  would 
disdain  to  accept  a  religious  principle  or  dogma  from 
Pope  or  Council,  will  take  a  moral  one  without  hesita- 
tion from  any  doctor  or  professor  of  science  who  may 
lay  down  the  law  for  them,  and  present  the  facts  so 
as  to  make  the  scale  turn  his  way.  Where  would 
Protestant  divines  be,  if  they  squared  their  theologies 
with  all  the  historical  statements  and  legends  of  Koman- 
ism  ?  If  we  construct  our  ethical  judgments  upon  the 
statements  and  representations  of  persons  interested  in 
maintaining  a  practice,  what  chance  is  there  that  they 
should  be  sound  ? 

I  find,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  (dated  May,  1868)  the 
following  souvenir  of  a  sermon  by  Mr.  Jowett,  delivered 
in  a  church  near  Soho  :  — 

"  We  went  to  that  sermon  on  Sunday.  It  was  really 
very  fine  and  very  bold ;  much  better  than  the  report 

in  the  '  Pall  Mall  Gazette '  made  it.     Mr.  Albert  D 

was  there,  but  few  else  who  looked  as  if   they  could 


326  FRANCES  POWER   COB  BE. 

understand  him.  He  has  a  good  voice  and  delivery, 
and  the  '  cherubic '  countenance  and  appealing  eyes 
suit  the  pulpit ;  but  he  looks  at  one  as  I  never  knew  any 
preacher  do.  We  sat  close  to  him,  and  it  was  as  if  Ave 
were  in  a  drawing-room.  M.  says  that  all  the  first  part 
was  taken  from  my  '  Broken  Lights  ; '  that  is,  it  was  a 
sketch  of  existing  opinions  on  the  same  plan.  It  was 
good  when  he  said :  — 

"  The  High  church  watchword  is  :  The  Church  ; 
always  and  ever  the  same. 

"  The  Low  church  watchword  is  :  The  Bible  only 
the  Religion  of  Protestants. 

"  The  party  of  Knowledge  has  for  its  principle : 
The  Truth  ever  and  always,  and  wherever  it  be  found. 

"  He  gave  each  their  share  of  praise  and  blame,  say- 
ing :  '  The  fault  of  the  last  party  '  (his  own,  of  course) 
was  —  that  '  sometimes  in  the  pursuit  of  Knowledge 
they  forgot  Goodness.'' " 

I  heard  him  preach  more  than  once  afterwards  in  the 
same  gloomy  old  church.  His  aspect  in  his  surplice 
was  exceedingly  quaint.  His  face,  even  in  old  age,  was 
like  that  of  an  innocent,  round-faced  child;  and  his 
short,  slender  figure,  wrapped  in  the  long  white  gar- 
ment, irresistibly  suggested  to  me  the  idea  of  "an 
elderly  cherub  prepared  for  bed !  "  Altogether,  taking 
into  account  his  entire  career,  the  Master  of  Balliol 
was  an  unique  figure  in  English  life,  whom  I  much 
rejoice  to  have  known  :  a  modern  Melchisedek. 

Here  is  another  memorandum  about  the  same  date, 
respecting  another  eminent  man,  interesting  in  another 
way:  — 

"  Sept.  25th,  1860.  A  pleasant  evening  at  Canon 
Guthrie's.  Introduced  to  old  Lord  Lansdowne  :  a  gen- 
tle, courteous  old  man  with  deep-set,  faded  gray  eyes, 
and  heavy  eyebrows  ;  a  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons  !  In 
the  course  of  the  evening  I  was  carrying  on  war  in  a 
corner  of  the  room  against  the  Dean  of   Bristol,  Mr. 


FRIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  327 

C and  Margaret  Elliot,  about  Toryism.     I  argued 

that  if  just  ice  to  all  were  the  chief  end  of  Government, 
the  power  should  be  lodged  in  the  hands  of  the  class 
who  best  understood  justice  ;  and  that  the  consequence 
of  the  opposite  course  was  manifest  in  America,  where 
the  freest  government  which  had  ever  existed  sup- 
ported also  the  most  gigantic  of  all  wrongs  —  slavery. 
On  this  Countess  Rothkirch  who  sat  by  clapped  her 
hands  with  joy ;  and  the  Dean  came  down  on  me  say- 
ing, 'That  if  power  should  only  be  given  to  those 
who  would  use  it  justly,  then  the  Tories  should  never 
have  any  power  at  all ;  for  they  never  used  it  justly.' 
Hearing  the  laughter  at  my  discomfiture,  Lord  Lans- 
downe  toddled  across  the  room  and  sat  down  beside  me 
saying,  'What  is  it  all  about  ?'  I  cried:  '0  Lord 
Lansdowne !  you  are  the  very  person  in  the  whole 
world  to  help  me  —  i"  am  defending  Tory  principles  !  ' 
He  laughed  heartily,  and  said,  'I  am  afraid  I  can 
hardly  do  that.'  '  Oh,  yes,'  I  said,  '  you  may  be  con- 
verted at  the  eleventh  hour ! '  '  Don't  you  know,'  he 
said,  'what  a  child  asked  her  mother:  "Are  Tories 
born  wicked,  mother,  or  do  they  only  become  so  ? " 
Margaret  said  this  was  really  asked  by  a  cousin  of  her 
own,  one  of  the  Adam  family.  It  ended  in  much 
laughter  and  talking  about  'Transformation,'  and  the 
'  Semi-attached  Couple,'  which  Lord  Lansdowne  said  he 
was  just  reading.  'I  like  novels  very  much,' he  said, 
'  only  I  take  a  little  time  between  each  of  them.' 
When  I  got  up  to  go  away,  the  kind  old  man  rose  in 
the  most  courtly  Avay  to  shake  hands,  and  paid  me  a 
little  old-world  compliment." 

This  was  the  eloquent  statesman  and  patron  of  litera- 
ture, Henry,  third  Marquis  of  Lansdowne,  in  whose 
time  his  house  (Bowood)  was  the  resort  of  the  finest 
intellectual  society  of  England.  I  have  a  droll  letter 
in  my  possession,  referring  to  this  Bowood  society, 
by  Sydney  Smith,  written  to  Mrs.  Kemble,  then  Mrs. 


328  FRANCES  POWER   COBBE. 

Butler.  It  has  come  to  me  with  all  her  other  papers  and 
with  seven  letters  from  Lord  Lansdowne  pressing  her 
to  pay  him  visits.  Sydney  Smith  writes  on  his  invita- 
tion to  her  to  come  to  Combe  Fleury  ;  after  minute 
directions  about  the  route  :  — 

"  The  interval  between  breakfast  and  dinner  brings 
you  to  Combe  Fleury.  We  are  the  next  stage  (to  Bo- 
wood).  Lord  Lansdowne's  guests  commonly  come  here 
dilated  and  disordered  with  high  living." 

In  another  letter  conveying  a  similar  invitation  he 
says,  with  his  usual  bitterness  and  injustice  as  regards 
America :  — 

"  Be  brave  my  dear  lady.  Hoist  the  American  flag. 
Barbarize  your  manners.  Dissyntax  your  language. 
Fling  a  thick  mantle  over  your  lively  spirits,  and  be- 
come the  fust  of  American  women.  You  will  always 
remain  a  bright  vision  in  my  recollection.  Do  not  for- 
get me.  Call  me  Butler's  Hudibras.  Any  appellation 
provided  I  am  not  forgotten." 

Among  the  residents  in  Clifton  and  at  Stoke  Bishop 
over  the  Downs  I  had  many  kind  friends,  some  of  whom 
helped  me  essentially  in  my  work  by  placing  tickets  for 
hospitals  and  money  in  my  hands  for  the  poor.  One  of 
these  whom  I  specially  recall  with  gratitude  was  that 
ever  zealous  moral  reformer,  Mrs.  Woolcott  Browne, 
who  is  still  working  bravely  with  her  daughter,  for 
many  good  causes  in  London.  I  must  not  write  here 
without  permission  of  the  many  others  whose  names 
have  not  come  before  the  public,  but  whose  affectionate 
consideration  made  my  life  very  pleasant,  and  whom  I 
ever  remember  with  tender  regard.  Of  one  excellent 
couple  I  may  venture  to  speak  —  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Goodeve 
of  Cook's  Folly.  Mrs.  Goodeve  herself  told  me  their 
singular  and  beautiful  story,  and  since  she  and  her 
husband  are  now  both  dead,  I  think  I  may  allow  myself 
to  repeat  it. 

Dr.  Goodeve  was  a  young  medical  man  who  had  just 


FRIENDS  IN  BRISTOL.  329 

married,  and  was  going  out  to  seek  his  fortune  in  India, 
having  no  prospects  in  England.  As  part  of  their 
honeymoon  holiday  the  young  couple  went  to  visit 
Cook's  Folly ;  then  a  small,  half-ruinous,  castellated 
building,  standing  in  a  spot  of  extraordinary  beauty 
over  the  Avon,  looking  down  the  Bristol  Channel.  As 
they  were  descending  the  turret-stair  and  taking,  as 
they  thought,  a  last  look  on  the  loveliness  of  England, 
the  young  wife  perceived  that  her  husband's  head  was 
bent  down  in  deep  depression.  She  laid  her  hand  on 
his  shoulder  and  whispered,  "  Never  mind,  Harry  !  You 
shall  make  a  fortune  in  India  and  we  will  come  back 
and  buy  Cook's  Folly." 

They  went  to  Calcutta  and  were  there  most  kindly 
received  by  a  gentleman  named  Hurry,  who  edited  a 
newspaper  and  whose  own  history  had  been  strange  and 
tragic.  Started  in  his  profession  by  his  interest,  Dr. 
Goocleve  soon  fell  into  good  practice,  and  by  degrees  be- 
came a  very  successful  physician,  the  founder  (I  believe) 
of  the  existing  Medical  College  of  Calcutta.  Going  on  a 
shooting  party,  his  face  was  most  terribly  shattered  by  a 
chance  shot  which  threatened  to  prove  mortal,  but  Mrs. 
Goodeve,  without  help  or  appliances,  alone  with  him  in 
a  tent  in  a  wild  district,  pulled  him  back  to  life.  At  last 
they  returned  to  England,  wealthy  and  respected  by  all, 
and  bringing  a  splendid  collection  of  Indian  furniture 
and  curios.  The  very  week  they  landed,  Cook's  Folly 
was  advertised  to  be  sold  !  They  remembered  it  well  — 
went  to  see  it  —  bought  it  —  and  rebuilded  it ;  making 
it  a  most  charming  and  beautiful  house.  A  peculiarity 
of  its  structure  as  remodelled  by  them  was,  that  there 
was  an  entire  suite  of  rooms  —  a  large  library  overlook- 
ing the  river  Avon,  bedroom,  bathroom  and  servant's 
room  —  all  capable  of  being  shut  off  from  the  rest  of 
the  house,  by  double  doors,  so  that  the  occupant  might 
be  quite  undisturbed.  When  everything  was  finished, 
and  splendidly  furnished,  the  Goodeves  wrote  to  Mr. 


330  FRANCES  POWER    COBBE. 

Hurry :  "  It  is  time  for  you  to  give  up  your  paper  and 
come  home.  You  acted  a  father's  part  to  us  when  we 
went  out  first  to  India.  Now  come  to  us,  and  live  as 
with  your  son  and  daughter." 

Mr.  Hurry  accepted  the  invitation  and  found  waiting 
for  him  and  his  Indian  servant  the  beautiful  suite  of 
rooms  built  for  him,  and  the  tenderest  welcome.  I  saw 
him  often  seated  by  their  fireside  just  as  a  father  might 
have  been.  When  the  time  came  for  him  to  die,  Mrs. 
Goodeve  nursed  him  with  such  devoted  care,  and 
strained  herself  so  much  in  lifting  and  helping  him, 
that  her  own  health  was  irretrievably  injured,  and  she 
died  not  long  afterwards. 

I  could  write  more  of  Bristol  and  Clifton  friends,  high 
and  low,  but  must  draw  this  chapter  of  my  life  to  a 
close.  I  went  to  Bristol  an  utter  stranger,  knowing  no 
human  being  there.  I  left  it  after  a  few  years  all  peo- 
pled, as  it  seemed  to  me,  with  kind  souls  ;  and  without 
one  single  remembrance  of  any  thing  else  but  kindness 
received  there  either  from  gentle  or  simple. 


END  OF  THE  FIRST  VOLUME. 


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